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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795653">Sufficient Grace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding'>heartofstanding</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lancaster Babies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>14th Century CE RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(referenced and canonical - none of the tagged characters), Child Death, Childbirth, Cute Kids, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Plantagenets' A+ Parenting, Pregnancy, Toddlers, Traumatic birth, but mainly Mary de Bohun's actually decent parenting, implied fertility issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:01:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is pregnant with her fourth child when Henry leaves for his crusade.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary de Bohun (. 1394) &amp; Humphrey of Lancaster Duke of Gloucester, Mary de Bohun (d. 1394) &amp; Henry V of England, Mary de Bohun (d. 1394) &amp; John of Lancaster 1st Duke of Bedford, Mary de Bohun (d. 1394) &amp; Thomas of Lancaster 1st Duke of Clarence, Mary de Bohun (d. 1394)/Henry IV of England</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lancaster Babies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1489931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OK, this is a long and fairly self-indulgent fic and I got half-way through the second edit where I was just... not having a great time with this ("it's so self-indulgent!") so I decided to post it as is. Obviously, this means it isn't as polished as I'd normally like it to be so please forgive typos et al.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Lincoln, July 1390</strong>
</p>
<p>By the time they arrive in Lincoln, all three of the boys are sleeping – just. John’s been fretful, very unimpressed with his first lengthy carriage ride, but he finally settled a mile or two ago. Even so, Mary’s terrified to hand him back to Jane or move in case he wakes again. After John settled, it was only a matter of time before Harry and Thomas did as well. They exhausted themselves earlier by fighting over who got to look out the carriage window – Harry won, by sheer virtue of not trying to climb <em>out </em>of the window – and had been getting increasingly cranky when John kept them up. But now they’re sleeping, Harry curled up on Joanne’s lap and Thomas slumped in Jane’s arms, mouth open and drooling.</p>
<p>Mary almost wishes they were awake, though, because as close as they were to making her head ache, they were a distraction. It was hard to think of anything when John was screaming or Thomas was making another mad escape attempt or Harry was throwing smug looks at Thomas as he inched the curtains up to peer out the window again.</p>
<p>She didn’t have to think of how uncomfortable the carriage is, how their driver seems to be leading them into all the worst ditches and the carriage jolts side from side, rendering the pillows and cushions stuffed around them almost useless. Or how her legs keep cramping up and her back aches with her fourth pregnancy, the baby inside her twitching with hiccups.</p>
<p>She didn’t have to think how they are going to Lincoln to farewell Henry, that though he is travelling with them, it is only the first leg of a journey that will take him far, far away from them for a long, long time. It doesn’t help that he spent three months earlier this year in France, attending jousts, and he has come back only to leave them again, this time for Lithuania and the Teutonic Knights.</p>
<p>It <em>is </em>noble and she <em>is </em>proud of Henry. When he comes back, he will be a Crusader, a warrior for God. But she wishes he wouldn’t go. Not so soon after his return. Not when she is pregnant again – this will be the first child whose birth he will miss. He had such a hard time bonding with Harry, what it will be like when he won’t even see this one for months?</p>
<p>This is selfish of Mary. She knows that, has confessed and done penance for it. Henry is fighting for God. What is a child next to that? A wife?</p>
<p>She shifts John to her other arm, soothing him when he stirs. She breathes in the sweet, milky smell of him. They will be alright, she knows – they have been without Henry before, though never as long as this. And she has her boys, her precious boys, to keep her company.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The carriage rolls to a stop. Joanne reaches out with a hand to pull back the curtains and Mary blinks at the sudden light. It’s late afternoon and she wriggles her toes in her shoes, watching the men on horseback mill around, some dismounting. Joanne takes Harry in her arms, hushing him when he wakes with a sleepy little whine, and pushes open the door. Mary follows her outside, breathes in the free air and feels the cool breeze caress her face. John is a limp, warm weight in her arms, his sleeping breaths gentle against her neck.</p>
<p>Henry comes towards her, his palfrey taken by a groom. He kisses her cheek and takes John out of her arms, hugging him to his chest. Henry’s grinning – he can’t wait for his adventure.</p>
<p>‘You look tired,’ he says. ‘Is it our little girl?’</p>
<p>Mary presses her hand to her belly, cradles it. They have quietly agreed that this baby will be a girl. Three boys in a row is a rarity, a blessing that earned Lancaster’s approval on his return, in spite of his fury at Henry and his fellow Lords Appellant. <em>Four </em>boys in a row is unthinkable. This baby must be a little girl at last. Their Blanche.</p>
<p>‘No,’ she says. ‘Though she wasn’t much help – the road was long, the ride bumpy, the boys terribly unhappy.’</p>
<p>‘They’re passed out now though.’</p>
<p>Henry pats John’s back lightly and John doesn’t even stir. Mary turns and catches sight of Thomas with Jane, his sleeping face pressed against her shoulder, and Harry with Joanne, his face in the crook of her neck. They head into the house and Mary finds herself wanting to follow and curl up between her boys.</p>
<p>‘Half their luck,’ Mary says, hiding her yawn behind a hand. ‘And I know, we could have stopped at Bytham and said our farewells there. But you’re going away for such a long time that it didn’t seem fair.’</p>
<p>Henry winces. He wraps the arm not holding John around her waist and she rests her head on his shoulder. It strikes her that very soon, within a week, he will be gone and won’t be able to hold her like this for months and months.</p>
<p>‘You know,’ he says. ‘I’m not on that ship yet.’</p>
<p>‘I should hope not,’ Mary says. ‘There’s not enough water in Lincoln, you’d run around.’</p>
<p>Henry laughs but it sounds nervous. ‘I don’t <em>have </em>to get on it, either. We could go back to Kenilworth or Monmouth. Spend the summer together, live quietly – I’d like that. If you want me to, I’ll stay.’</p>
<p>Oh, she would love that. To take him back to Kenilworth and live quietly away from court, at least until the king’s wounds have healed and he and Henry are reconciled. To watch Henry spend more time with the boys, to come to really know Harry and mend the distance between them. For Henry to hold his first daughter in his arms hours, not months, after her birth. But she can’t in good conscious allow Henry to stay.</p>
<p>‘I want you to,’ she says. ‘I always want you with me. You know that. But, Henry, you can’t stay. Everything’s been settled and paid for.’</p>
<p>He nods, his arm tightening around her. ‘Father <em>would </em>be furious if I changed my mind. Especially at the last possible moment.’</p>
<p>‘And you want to go.’</p>
<p>‘I also want to be with you and our children.’</p>
<p>‘You can everything you want,’ she says. ‘But not all at once.’</p>
<p>‘No.’</p>
<p>She leans up to kiss his cheek. ‘We’ll miss you most dreadfully. And I promise, I will write – if you write too. And when you come back, you will have stories and treasures to share with us. Imagine that.’</p>
<p>‘A popinjay.’</p>
<p>Mary laughs and kisses him. ‘A leopard too, perhaps? Or bears? Then we’ll have to worry about Harry and Thomas wanting to make friends with the big, fluffy creatures.’</p>
<p>Henry snorts. ‘They’re not that bad. Are they?’</p>
<p>‘Oh yes they are,’ Mary says. ‘Thomas made several attempts to climb out the window of the carriage. While we were moving.’</p>
<p>Henry stares at her. ‘He’s certainly… brave.’</p>
<p>Mary bites back her giggles. <em>Brave, </em>she thinks, <em>or stupidly fearless.</em></p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The boys are too tired to take in anything much of their new surroundings, or so Joanne reports to Mary in the late evening. They had to be roused for their supper and Joanne suspects they will sleep the whole night through once they are put down for bed. John kept falling asleep as he nursed at Jane’s breast, the poor little mite. Mary herself is so weary that she stumbles through her prayers and she doesn’t think of much beyond a pang at the knowledge Henry will soon be gone before she’s deeply asleep.</p>
<p>After Terce in the morning, it’s apparent the boys are quite recovered from their journey – at least judging from the noise Harry and Thomas are making as she walks the corridor to their nursery – and she hastily revises her plans for a quiet morning of reading.</p>
<p>When she opens the door, <em>chaos. </em>John is sitting on the rug by the empty hearth, clapping his hands as Thomas and Harry attack each other with cushions, feathers flying in the air. She’s not entirely sure who John’s barracking for but Harry is quick and Thomas vicious.</p>
<p>‘Well,’ Mary says. ‘That <em>does </em>look like fun—’</p>
<p>‘Mama!’</p>
<p>John clambers to his feet and waves his arms at her, begging to be picked up, and Harry and Thomas drop their cushions to come charging over, flinging their arms around her legs. She squats down to kiss them – almost as soon as Harry’s gotten his kiss, he tears off to try and pull John along – the poor thing can’t walk on his own yet and Harry’s not big enough to be much help. Mary intervenes before it can end in disaster and plucks John up, kissing him.</p>
<p>‘My little love,’ she tells him. ‘It’ll come, I promise. You’re doing so well.’</p>
<p>He giggles and hides his face in the crook of her neck, snuggling in.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Harry says, voice rising in a tell-tale sign he has a question. ‘Do we have to stay inside?’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says. ‘I was thinking we might go and explore the gardens. Maybe have our dinner out there. What do you think?’</p>
<p>Harry’s eyes shine and he nods rapidly as Thomas starts yelling <em>– </em>mostly the word <em>yes </em>in one continuous stream.</p>
<p>‘Inside voice, love,’ Mary says. ‘Or no gardens.’</p>
<p>Thomas’s mouth clamps shut, his cheeks bulging. Mary giggles and pets his hair, bending down to kiss one of those cheeks before planting another one on Harry’s forehead. She wiggles her free hand at them.</p>
<p>‘Who’s going to hold onto my hand on the way there?’</p>
<p>‘Me!’ Thomas yelps, and at her glance, quietens. ‘Mama, please?’</p>
<p>‘Alright,’ she says. ‘Harry, you can hold mine on the way back.’</p>
<p>‘Is Papa coming?’ Harry asks, shoulders hunching up and expression turning pinched.</p>
<p>‘No, he’s with Grandfather this morning—’</p>
<p>Harry heaves out a sigh and his shoulders slump down. Mary hides her frown in John’s messy hair. This is – new. Henry has always been slow to bond with Harry but before Lancaster came back, they had started to really settle. But the moment they heard Lancaster was returning to England, Henry changed. He is hard, on Harry – exacting and precise in his expectations. It’s as though he fears that Lancaster will treat Harry like he treated Henry and Henry thinks it is <em>kinder </em>that the endless criticism comes from him, not Lancaster.</p>
<p>Mary’s tried speaking to Henry about it but he’s bull-headed, absolutely certain he’s doing the right thing and she knows nothing about it. But she knows Lancaster barely <em>looked </em>at the boys when they were presented to him and Harry is still half a baby. This isn’t needed – this is only <em>hurting </em>Harry.</p>
<p>She runs a hand over Harry’s hair, cups his chin and bends to kiss him.</p>
<p>‘We might see if Papa and Grandfather want to have dinner with us, though,’ she says. Maybe if Henry sees Lancaster <em>ignoring </em>the boys again, he’ll calm down.</p>
<p>Harry nods, shuffling his feet. ‘Grandfather’s scary.’</p>
<p>‘Yes, he is,’ she says. ‘But he won’t hurt you. I won’t let him.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The day is warm but not unpleasantly so; the sun doesn’t shine so brightly in the sky that she worries about it burning skin. Thomas soon tears himself free to grab Harry and explore the gardens, Joanne and Jane keeping a close eye on them. John stares after them longingly until Mary laughs and kisses his head.</p>
<p>‘Never mind!’ she says. ‘You’ll soon be running with them.’</p>
<p>He’s a sturdy little baby, quite strong – he reminds her very much of Thomas at that age – but he has the same hesitancy about walking on his own that Harry had. He’s clearly <em>thinking </em>about it a lot but he’ll only do it if someone is holding his hand. She sets him down on the ground and squats down next to him.</p>
<p>‘Are you excited about the baby, love?’ she says. ‘About having a little sister?’</p>
<p>He gazes at her with such a serious, disgruntled expression and shakes his head gravely. She laughs and kisses his cheek.</p>
<p>‘Oh, John,’ she says. ‘You can’t be a baby <em>forever.</em> You wouldn’t like it.’</p>
<p>He frowns and says, ‘Yes.’</p>
<p>‘You would? You want to stay a baby forever? You don’t want to be able to join in Harry and Thomas’s games?’</p>
<p>John’s face screws up and he stamps his little foot in obvious frustration at the contradiction in his wants. Mary hugs him close, rubbing his back.</p>
<p>‘You know,’ she whispers, ‘it doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less. That you won’t be any less special to me.’</p>
<p>His grip on her turns fierce and she knows that she’ll have to be attentive to his moods, to make sure he loved and special. It was easier with Harry, who seems to adore being the big brother, and Thomas, who demands attention. John is quiet but she knows it’s not because he feels things any less. She kisses his cheeks, his unfortunate nose and hugs him even tighter.</p>
<p>‘I love you so, so much, little man,’ she says. ‘How about we do our own exploring?’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary has just settled an exhausted John down onto the blanket her women have spread beneath the shady branches of a towering oak when Harry and Thomas come trotting over. Their arms are full of treasures: pinecones, flowers, stones and feathers. Thomas’s curls are a riotous mess, leaves and twigs caught in them, and Harry’s nose is smudged with dirt. They are full of stories, told in breathless, stumbling voices – the birds they saw, how Thomas tried to climb a tree, how Harry pulled him down when he got too frightened, the beetle they tried to take so they could show her and John but it flew away from Thomas’s prodding fingertips.</p>
<p>‘We got you a feather,’ Harry says to John.</p>
<p>He hands over a long, slightly crumpled feather that’s black as night. John clutches it in his hand and stares up at Harry in adoration. Mary reaches over and ruffles Harry’s hair, proud of him for not forgetting his youngest brother. He beams at her and then his face falls as he looks beyond her. Henry.</p>
<p>‘Joanne,’ Mary says. ‘Clean him up, please.’</p>
<p>Best not to give Henry anything to criticise. Mary turns to Thomas and hugs him close, a ruse to get him close enough that Jane can tackle his hair. He whines and struggles but Jane succeeds in getting the debris out and it combed neatly. Mary kisses him to make up for the indignity and then lets him go. He backs away and rubs a hand over his curls, messing them up again. Mary shakes her head fondly and pulls Harry to her, rubbing his back.</p>
<p>‘You are an excellent boy and I love you,’ she tells him firmly. ‘I love you so much, Harry. It’ll be alright, I promise.’</p>
<p>She kisses him twice before letting him go and getting to her feet.</p>
<p>‘There you are,’ Henry says. ‘I was beginning to think – well, it doesn’t matter.’</p>
<p>‘Papa!’</p>
<p>Thomas pelts forward and Henry catches him, lifting him up.</p>
<p>‘You’re getting to be such a big, strong boy,’ Henry says. ‘And so brave!’</p>
<p>‘I climbed a tree!’ Thomas says.</p>
<p>‘Really? You’re so brave. How high did you get?’</p>
<p>Mary turns to check on the other boys. Harry is huddled next to John, clearly hoping if he’s as small as possible, he won’t be noticed. John is patting his shoulder, worried but clearly longing to get some of Henry’s attention for himself. Mary smiles at him and picks John up, kissing his forehead.</p>
<p>‘You’re a good boy too,’ she says. ‘Harry, come hold my hand. We have to greet Papa.’</p>
<p>Harry stares at her balefully but he latches onto her hand all the same. She leads him over to Henry, hoping without much hope that Henry will have forgotten his urge to <em>correct </em>Harry and save him from Lancaster’s scrutiny at all costs.</p>
<p> Thomas, still babbling excitedly about how brave he’s been, says, ‘But Harry made me get down.’</p>
<p>‘Harry?’ Henry says. ‘Why did you spoil your brother’s fun? Were you jealous, is that it?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t,’ Mary says quietly. ‘Please.’</p>
<p>‘He has to learn and if you won’t—’</p>
<p>‘If I won’t what?’ Mary says.</p>
<p>Harry presses against her leg, head down. She feels a sudden surge of anger – can’t Henry see what he’s <em>doing </em>to his son? He’s not yet four years old, he shouldn’t be cringing like this.</p>
<p>‘If you won’t teach him, I will,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>‘For God’s sake,’ Mary says. ‘You aren’t your father but you’re acting—’</p>
<p>‘How can you say that? All I’m doing is for Harry’s own good,’ Henry says. ‘How can you say that – don’t you dare say that—’</p>
<p>‘That’s the <em>point</em>,’ Mary says. ‘You’re <em>not </em>him. But you’re not – not seeing Harry, all you’re seeing is your <em>idea </em>of your father’s disapproval.’</p>
<p>He’s staring at her as if he’s never seen her before. She remembers seeing that expression in his eyes only once before, when Harry was so newly born and struggling to live. When Henry was refusing to even look at Harry when he was in the room with them and she had words with Henry over it and still hadn’t managed to make him understand.</p>
<p>‘This isn’t in my head—’</p>
<p>‘He barely even looked at the boys. And you keep picking at Harry, making him believe there’s something wrong with him—’</p>
<p>‘Maybe there is!’ Henry says. ‘You’re so naïve – you don’t see him either, Mary. He needs to learn, he needs correction.’</p>
<p> ‘Naïve?’ Mary says. She feels a coldness sweep through her. She never felt like Henry saw her like <em>that</em>. ‘Oh, yes, I see. Poor you, yes, saddled with such a <em>naïve </em>wife, some stupid, silly, empty-headed woman who can’t possibly know <em>anything </em>about her own children.’</p>
<p>John lets out a dreadful wail, face crumpling badly. Mary hugs him to her tightly, and Harry retreats. She feels the baby inside her twist and shudder and the burn of tears in her own eyes. No, no, she should’ve done this better. Spoken to Henry when they were alone, so the boys were spared this scene. She shouldn’t have let them listen. She’s so <em>stupid. </em>She hushes John, rubbing his back, but he won’t stop crying and Henry is staring at her, mouth clicked shut. Thomas’s eyes are huge in his face.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Thomas bleats. ‘Mama.’</p>
<p>He stretches out his arms to her and she shakes her head, trying to settle John. She can only hold one child at a time, can only comfort one child at a time. John’s usually such a quiet, content baby but when he’s truly upset, it’s always a storm. And of course he’s upset, his parents have been arguing so horribly right in front of him and it’s all Mary’s fault.</p>
<p>‘Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,’ she says. ‘Mama’s sorry, she’s so sorry. I am, I am.’ She buries her face in John’s hair and kisses him.</p>
<p>She doesn’t let herself think of anything, not even the anger and guilt swimming in her belly, suffocating the baby, until John’s settled. She paces beneath the tree, murmuring soothing things. Papa and Mama love each other very much, they’re only arguing because they care so much about their children. They’ll always love each other and their boys so very much. John at last settles and clings miserably to her neck, face red and blotchy. She gives him a little longer and then passes him to Jane so she can take Thomas from a pale, shocked Henry and hug him close.</p>
<p>‘It’s alright, love,’ she tells him. ‘I’m sorry I scared you but – but you’re such a brave boy.’</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ he whispers, pressing his face into her neck.</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Henry says, voice choked.</p>
<p>Mary glances at him, not wanting to fight again. Not like this, not in front of the boys, not when Henry is <em>leaving. </em>She wants them to be at peace, for Henry to <em>understand </em>and for them to move past this argument without dissecting everything said.</p>
<p>‘Harry’s young,’ she says firmly. ‘He’s not even four, he’s still half a baby. Just – leave him be, please? If only for these last few days.’</p>
<p><em>Not for my sake, </em>she doesn’t say, <em>but for Harry’s. </em></p>
<p>Henry’s mouth opens and shuts but he nods. ‘Alright. I’m sorry.’</p>
<p>She nods and sets Thomas down, glad he’s settled. She turns to Joanne, wanting to check on Harry – he’ll need a cuddle too. He’s standing next to Joanne’s legs, his face still and sad.</p>
<p>‘Do you want a hug?’ she says, squatting down in front of him and reaching out a hand to brush the air back from Harry’s eyes.</p>
<p>He shakes his head.</p>
<p>‘No?’ she says.</p>
<p>He won’t look at her. This is – wrong. Her worry is reflected in Joanne’s face. She turns back to Harry, sees him picking at his hands.</p>
<p>‘Well, can I have one, then? I’d like a hug from my Harry.’</p>
<p>He doesn’t respond immediately but eventually gives a jerking nod and lurches forward. She presses him close, rubbing his back, and all she can feel is how stiffly he’s standing in her arms, no matter how much his fingers clutch at her sleeves. She kisses his cheeks and squeezes him tighter.</p>
<p>‘I’m sorry if we scared you,’ she says gently and he shakes his head. ‘No? You weren’t scared? Well, I’m sorry all the same. I love you so much, little man.’</p>
<p>She pulls back. It feels wrong to let him go when something is clearly wrong but she can’t keep holding him when he seems not to want her to. She kisses his cheeks again and takes hold of his hand as she stands again.</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Henry says, pleading. ‘I didn’t – I don’t think you’re stupid. I’ve <em>never </em>thought that.’</p>
<p>Mary closes her eyes and nods. No, she thinks, only too naïve to know anything about how her children think. He wouldn’t be so cruel to think of her in any worse terms. She squeezes Harry’s hand again.</p>
<p>‘I know,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry too.’</p>
<p>‘You don’t have to be,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Thomas pipes up. ‘I’m hungry.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles at him, feels herself worn thin. ‘Well, we better eat then. Do we know if your father is coming, Henry?’</p>
<p>‘He said he’d rather eat at a table,’ Henry says grimly.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Harry is distressingly quiet all through dinner, even when Thomas tries to steal Harry’s portion of hirchone from him – an event that usually has the boys squawking furiously at each other. And Harry only nibbles at his hirchone after that and never when he thinks he’s being watched. She doesn’t want to make a fuss, not in front of everyone – that sort of thing only makes Harry feel worse. She’s relieved that when its time to go back inside, he grabs onto her hand and holds it tight without needing to be reminded that it’s his turn to hold her hand.</p>
<p>He does seem brighter on the walk back. She keeps up a steady stream of cheerful chatter the whole time, pointing out the birds in the trees and how John, half-asleep in Jane’s arms, is steadfastly clutching the feather Harry gave him. She talks about the version of <em>Ave Maris Stella </em>that she has been composing, humming a few chords for him. One day, she thinks, he will be grown enough for him to be able to give her advice but for now he is too awed to do anything but appreciate her efforts.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ he says, a little hesitantly. ‘Can we work on my harp – a-after?’</p>
<p>‘Of course!’ she says, beaming down at him. His head tips back and he beams back at her, his worries apparently forgotten.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary closes the door of the solar behind her. She’s tired and there’s part of her that longs to lie down on the settle and nap like her boys – but Henry is sitting on it, hunched down and clearly waiting for her to come back so they can speak about their fight. Mary squares her shoulders, promising herself she’ll keep her temper this time. She doesn’t want to fight when he’s going to leave them so soon.</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>She sits down in the chair facing the settle, smoothing her skirts. She rests a hand on her belly, feels the baby move.</p>
<p>‘I know you’re doing what you think is best,’ she says. ‘I know that you love Harry, that you think you are helping – protecting – him by criticising. But it’s… he’s only little, Henry.’</p>
<p>‘Still half a baby.’</p>
<p>An echo of her own words.</p>
<p>‘He’ll grow up soon enough,’ Mary says. Already, it seems unbelievable that he was once alone, once a sleepy little parcel that she held and knew was <em>hers</em>. ‘Please don’t make him do it any faster. I know you think I’m – I don’t know, <em>blind</em> – but I know him. I know my boys.’</p>
<p>‘You spoil him,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>Mary pauses, stung. She doesn’t think she does, at least no more than the rest of her children and even then – she loves them, what harm does it do to show them? She makes them take their baths, go sleep at night and attend their lessons. Only last week, Henry had been so proud when Thomas presented him with a sheet of parchment with <em>TOM </em>scrawled clumsily across it but it was her who had spent the hours with Thomas, coaxing him to try again in spite of his frustrations and impatience. And if she spoils Harry, Henry spoils Thomas.</p>
<p>‘You spoil all the boys,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>‘Do I?’ Mary says. She presses her hands to her eyes. ‘I thought – I will ask Maman, I thought I was only acting as she did.’</p>
<p>Henry is quiet for a long moment. ‘Maybe. I don’t know – maybe you’re only doing what mothers do. How would I know?’</p>
<p>She feels a terrible stab of pity. Mary stands and goes to Henry, sitting beside him on the settle and taking his hands. He squeezes her fingers tightly.</p>
<p>‘I don’t deserve you,’ he says.</p>
<p>‘Nonsense,’ she says.</p>
<p>She knows he means it, though, and feels it when he kisses her forehead. She squeezes his hands tighter.</p>
<p>‘I love you,’ she tells him. ‘And love – love isn’t about what’s deserved. You’d love me regardless of whether I deserved it or not—’</p>
<p>‘You <em>do</em>.’</p>
<p>‘—and we go on like that, loving people and not thinking about whether they deserve it.’</p>
<p>Henry kisses her, pulling one hand free to cup her jaw. ‘I wish everyone was like you,’ he said. ‘I wish I was more like you.’</p>
<p>‘I don’t,’ Mary says. ‘I love you like this. I wouldn’t change you.’</p>
<p>‘Not even a tiny bit?’</p>
<p>Mary pauses, thinks it through. There are things that annoy her about Henry or have set her to worrying but if she got rid of them, he would cease to be Henry. And some of the annoyances are endearing, in their own way.</p>
<p>‘Well,’ she says. ‘I’d like you not have to suffer the pox again. It made you so miserable!’</p>
<p>He laughs and kisses her. ‘Only that?’</p>
<p>‘I already… <em>dealt </em>with your houppelande embroidered with toads,’ she says. ‘So only that.’</p>
<p>‘I might buy another, along with your popinjay.’</p>
<p>Mary laughs. ‘Then I will deal with that one too.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The days pass too quickly. Mary finds herself torn, trying to cling to Henry for each moment they have together, to memorise his face and scent, already so familiar to her, while keeping up a front for her children so they remain blissfully distracted. They are sad Henry is going away but he often goes away and it is hard for them to comprehend just how long he will be gone for this time. So she takes them on explorations of Lincoln, slipping into the cathedral between services, visiting Katherine Swynford, or else letting them explore the gardens until they are exhausted. They know, of course, that something is wrong, that she is sad but she keeps them busy enough that they can’t linger on it.</p>
<p>But time continues to slip away. Soon, it is the last week and then the days go past too easily. Their last Monday, their last Tuesday…</p>
<p>On the day before Henry is due to leave Lincoln, she and Henry have dinner with Lancaster in a small dining chamber. After the days of exploring with her boys, it seems so quiet and unnatural. Stifling. She remembers the chaos of the nursery, Joanne and Jane trying to settle the boys down to their own dinner before she went to change. John knocked the cheese of his plate with a bellow which inspired Thomas and Harry to begin a food fight. She herself had gotten the fair share of John’s mashed up beans over her surcoat and had to change.</p>
<p>‘You are quiet, Mary,’ Lancaster says. ‘You’re well?’</p>
<p>Mary dips her head in a nod, rests her hand on her belly. ‘Just tired, I suppose – the boys are a handful.’</p>
<p>‘Hmm.’ Lancaster turns back to his spinach tart, utterly uninterested.</p>
<p>‘And the baby, of course,’ Henry says. ‘That’s always hard.’</p>
<p>‘One would think she’d be used to it,’ Lancaster says.</p>
<p>Henry’s mouth opens and shuts and he sends her an apologetic look. Mary’s not sure whether Lancaster is being insulting on purpose on not but she smiles, nudging Henry’s foot with her own.</p>
<p>‘Oh yes,’ she says, reaching out with her knife to take one of the daryols. ‘I keep thinking that too but there’s always something different.’</p>
<p>‘I’m sure,’ Lancaster says.</p>
<p>Mary crumbles the pastry from around the custard, pushing it away with her fingers. ‘Harry’s learning how to read the Ave Maria.’</p>
<p>‘He must be getting old enough to have some time away from the nursery,’ Lancaster says. ‘Perhaps he can come stay with me?’</p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Mary says. She studies the saffron-coloured custard and swallows. ‘He’s only three, your grace.’</p>
<p>It is not quite a lie but it is misleading – Harry will turn four in September. She hopes God will forgive her for it. The longer she can keep Harry away from Lancaster, the better.</p>
<p>Lancaster leans back in his chair and studies the ceiling. ‘Yes. Yes, quite right. He should stay with you a little while longer. Are you thinking of attending the queen soon, Mary?’</p>
<p>Mary wishes she had left the daryols alone.</p>
<p>‘I haven’t decided on anything,’ she says.</p>
<p>She likes Anne but she doesn’t think she can bear to face her. The entire time that Anne had been so sweet to Mary during her pregnancy with Thomas, Henry had been plotting with his other Lords Appellant to move against Richard. And Mary knows they had noble aims but the way they carried things out – it would have hurt Richard and Anne so. How can she face Anne when she knows what Henry has done to Richard?</p>
<p>Besides, it seems cruel to go and see Anne with a newborn baby in her arms and three boys trailing behind her when Anne has yet to be blessed with her own child. Anne has loved them and would be kind but it would surely grieve her to see such a clear reminder of what she lacks.</p>
<p>‘Think about it,’ Lancaster says. ‘The queen is fond of you and your friendship may help restore Henry to favour.’</p>
<p>‘Mary has enough to deal with,’ Henry says stoutly. ‘She doesn’t need to try and correct <em>my </em>mistakes.’</p>
<p>Lancaster stares at Henry without a word until Henry’s head drops down and he studies the onion tart as though it is a manual for jousting. Mary’s hands shake as she cuts her daryol in half.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>They’ve left the dining hall and are half-way up the stairs leading to their room. Mary just wants to check on her boys – part of her irrationally needs to see that Lancaster hasn’t had Harry spirited away already. She stops, though, and turns to face Henry.</p>
<p>‘You don’t have to do anything he says. You know that, don’t you?’</p>
<p>Mary lifts one shoulder up in a shrug. She knows she’ll have to find Harry a placement in another household soon but she hopes it will be with her mother, not Lancaster. She knows she will have to return to court one day, she cannot keep hiding in the country with her children.</p>
<p>‘I do,’ she says. ‘And I will do what is best for the children.’</p>
<p>‘And for yourself.’</p>
<p>‘And myself.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles, lets her hand trace down his chest. He catches her hand and kisses the palm. She closes her eyes and pitches forward, lets her head rest on his shoulder, breathes him in.</p>
<p>‘Let’s get changed,’ she says. ‘And then go to bed for a little while.’</p>
<p>‘But—’ Henry says.</p>
<p>‘It’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘I promise.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>She can’t sleep, that night. She’s restless, kicking away cushions and then clutching them tight. For once, it’s not entirely about the pregnancy – though it doesn’t help. Mary’s back is aching, her legs cramping and the baby is either somersaulting or hiccupping She gives up on the idea of sleep and pushes herself out of bed. She goes to the window and rests her cheek against the cold glass. Her hand absentmindedly rubs at her belly. What time is it, she wonders – Compline has passed and Matins must be a fair distance off still.</p>
<p>Perhaps if the baby was sleeping, she would find it easier to rest.</p>
<p>‘Little one,’ she says. ‘My joy. My Blanche. I love you but you’re driving me mad.’</p>
<p>She almost wishes Harry has a nightmare and comes running to her, simply for the distraction. She is too jumpy, too aware of how the time is slipping away. How can she sleep when in the morning, Henry will leave her for so long?</p>
<p>No, she thinks, no, she will get nowhere by driving her mind in circles. She will go and see her boys. They will be sleeping but she will be quiet and watch them.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>There is a lamp burning in the nursery still but the air is heavy with the sound of sleeping breaths. Agneta, one of the cradle nurses, is dozing beside John’s cradle and Mary steps forward to watch John sleep, his little face relaxed and easy. She kisses her fingertips and brushes them lightly over John’s thick thatch of dark hair. His nose wrinkles but he doesn’t stir.</p>
<p>The hangings around Harry and Thomas’s bed have been drawn back and they are sleeping piled together like week-old puppies. Mary doesn’t see why the hangings are open at first but she sees Henry standing there, tears trickling down his cheeks and into his beard. She steps to his side, takes his hand. He startles and then looks at her, hugging her tightly.</p>
<p>‘How did you know?’ he whispers into her hair.</p>
<p>‘I didn’t. I couldn’t sleep and thought they would help.’</p>
<p>‘I can’t leave them.’</p>
<p>Mary bites her lip, rubbing Henry’s arm. She wishes he had thought of this earlier, she wishes she believed him. It’s too late for these doubts to change anything and he has wanted to go on Crusade for years – she still has his letters written after they were first married, when she still lived with her sister, where Henry talked about wanting to go on Crusade. Now he is finally ready to go and he <em>wants </em>it, he wants it so badly, he just wishes he could have his adventure and his family all at the same time.</p>
<p>‘You will have a wonderful time,’ she says. ‘And we will be alright on our own. The time will pass like it is nothing, like a handful of days, and we will see each other again and you – you will have so many presents for us – and a new houppelande embroidered with toads that I will make disappear.’</p>
<p>Henry smiles weakly. ‘And our boys?’</p>
<p>‘They will be bigger,’ she says. ‘They’ll grow so much while you’re away, turn into little men and have acquired some wisdom. And we will have our little girl at last.’</p>
<p>‘Yes. Our Blanche.’</p>
<p>Henry rests a warm hand on her belly, bends his head to kiss it.</p>
<p>‘I’ll miss her birth,’ he says. ‘Mary, Mary – you’ll be safe?’</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ she says and prays she is not lying. ‘When you come back, we will be a perfect six.’</p>
<p>‘Harry—’</p>
<p>‘Harry will have learnt to copy out the Paternoster,’ she says. ‘And he will have learnt his first song on the harp. He’s a clever boy. Thomas will have worked hard on his writing, too, and he will be even more fearlessly brash. John will be speaking more and walking too, he’ll run over to you to ask his papa for a hug. And you’ll be able to pick up and hold our little girl.’</p>
<p>Henry’s eyes close briefly. His lips move silently and Mary hopes she’s said the right thing. Hopes he is reassured enough to go.</p>
<p>‘Your sister will come and stay for the birth, won’t she?’</p>
<p>‘And her children,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>‘And – oh, no,’ Henry says. ‘We haven’t picked a name for if the baby’s a boy after all. I know she won’t be but – oh no.’</p>
<p>‘I’ll pick one,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>‘Not Richard,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>Mary laughs and presses his arm. ‘Alright then. Not Richard.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Of course the night ends too quickly, of course the morning comes too soon. She wakes in bed, her face pressed against Henry’s chest and his hand stroking through her hair. She closes her eyes and wishes she could sleep again, wishes she had one more night with Henry – or at least an hour. But all too soon, he is shifting, trying to ease out from under her without disturbing her. She sits up, pushing her hair behind her ears.</p>
<p>‘They<span>’</span><span>ve just rung the bells for Prime,’ Henry says. ‘You don’t have to get up.’</span></p>
<p>‘I may as well.’</p>
<p>She has Alice and Agnes wash and dress her while Henry returns to his room to do the same. She spends some time kneeling at her prie-dieu and praying in circles before she makes herself rise and take the boys to the Terce service. They’re well-behaved – mostly. Harry and Thomas spend the sermon pushing their toy knights along the floor and John sits quietly on Jane’s lap, drooling around the buckle in his mouth.</p>
<p>And then it is over and they are outside in the hot sun before she is taking them down to the hall. They are nervous, eyes darting around the grand room, and pressing close to her. There’s more people and noise than they’re used to and, even though they understand Henry is leaving today, they are disconcerted that they’re still in their church finery.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Harry says. ‘Mama, we’re not dressed properly?’</p>
<p>‘We’re going to say goodbye to Papa now, remember?’ she says. ‘So we’ll get changed after and then go out if you want to.’</p>
<p>She leads them up onto the dais, where Lancaster is waiting, and arranges them in a line, Harry next to her, then Thomas and then John in Jane’s arms. She takes a breath, resting one hand on her belly and the other takes Harry’s hand. And then Henry is there, pushing through the crowd to come up onto the dais. He bows to his father, exchanges some words and then stands before Mary, his eyes soft and sad.</p>
<p>‘Papa,’ Thomas says. ‘Papa, I come too?’</p>
<p>Henry flinches. ‘No,’ he says, voice cracking. He swallows and tries again. ‘Next time, perhaps.’</p>
<p>He kisses Mary’s cheek, wipes the tear dripping down her cheek, and then gets down on one knee in front of Harry and Thomas. He places a hand on a shoulder each.</p>
<p>‘You are in charge now,’ he says. ‘You must look after your mother and do everything she says.’</p>
<p>Thomas’s chest puffs up and Mary smiles, but Harry’s head droops. She squeezes his hand tightly, watches as Henry goes to John, brushing a hand over his hair. Then he’s standing in front of her again. His hands cup her face, lift it to his.</p>
<p>‘I won’t bring back any toads,’ he says.</p>
<p>She laughs despite her tears. ‘Promise?’</p>
<p>‘Promise.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As in <i>And All This Light</i>, I've used "Maman" to refer to Joan Fitzalan.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Bytham, July-August 1390</strong>
</p>
<p>By the time Mary’s stepped out of the carriage, John in her arms, her mother is already exclaiming over how much Harry and Thomas have grown since she’s seen them last and asking them questions. Mary smiles to hear their piping, chattering voices – they’ve been subdued since Henry left. Harry has his arms around Maman’s waist, clearly not shy or scared of her, and Thomas is tugging on her skirts.</p>
<p>‘Maman,’ Mary says. ‘Aren’t you forgetting someone?’</p>
<p>‘Oh, John!’ Maman reaches out and takes John from Mary, kissing him. ‘You’ve gotten so big! I hardly recognised you.’</p>
<p>John beams at Maman, snuggling into her neck, and Maman steps forward and wraps an arm around Mary, kissing her cheek. Mary leans into the hug, making an effort not to squash the boys between them. She closes her eyes, believing that everything will be alright as long as her mother is there.</p>
<p>‘Come in, come in,’ Maman says. ‘We’ll go to the courtyard, the boys can run about and we can sit down and you can tell me everything. And then, baths.’</p>
<p>‘Baths?’ Thomas says, pulling a face, and Mary giggles, remembering his tantrums. ‘Mama, <em>no.</em>’</p>
<p>‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Mary says. ‘You didn’t have one last night, remember? And now you’ve been stuck in the carriage so you’re on the verge of being Smelly Tom again.’</p>
<p>Thomas frowns and whines, burying his face in her skirts.</p>
<p>‘Can I take my knight with me?’ Harry stretches the battered little tin knight he’s been taking everywhere up towards Maman.</p>
<p>‘Does he need a bath too?’ Maman says, raising her brows. ‘Well, I suppose you had better take him with you then.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The boys have been bathed and put down for their naps and so it is Mary who rests on the sponges in the tub and letting her women scrub the dust and sweat of the journey from her skin. Maman is sitting on one of the stools, crumbling dried lavender into a wooden bowl.</p>
<p>Mary sends her women away, enjoying the warmth of the rose-scented bath, the privacy of her thoughts. She hugs her belly.</p>
<p>‘Maman,’ she says. ‘Am I a bad mother?’</p>
<p>Maman’s brows shoot up and she drops the sprig of lavender into the bowl. She watches Mary for a long moment, eyes shrewd.</p>
<p>‘I’d ask what foolish creature put that thought in your head if I didn’t know better.’ Maman sets the bowl to the side, sighs. ‘Mary, every mother asks herself that and wishes she could find an answer she trusts. I certainly have.’</p>
<p>‘But you—’</p>
<p>‘Hush,’ Maman says. ‘I know. I know what sort of mother I have been. And I know there are things I should have handled better, mistakes I made but – I am at peace with that. How can I not be, when I see you and Eleanor so finely grown?’</p>
<p>Mary flushes and looks down at the soapy water, her belly, breasts, and knees making islands above the surface.</p>
<p>‘You are a good mother, Mary,’ Maman says. ‘Perhaps not the best but then a woman can only strive to follow in the Holy Mother’s example.’</p>
<p>Mary nods slowly. She knows this – she tries so hard to be good but she has made mistakes and faltered in her duties. Harry’s fear of Henry is proof that she’s failed somewhere.</p>
<p>‘You know this already but your sons are good boys,’ Maman says. ‘They listen to you, even when you’re forcing them into a bath, and they’re clever little things. John might be as slow as Harry was to walk but that’s only because he’s so marvellously cautious. Harry is a sweet little thing – he reminds me so much of you, darling girl. Even though Thomas is wild, he listens to you and adores both his brothers.’</p>
<p>Mary nods, picking at one of the rose petals stuck to her knee. ‘Henry says I spoil them.’</p>
<p>‘What would he know?’ Maman says.</p>
<p>Mary flushes. She feels she ought to defend Henry but she’s just glad that her mother hasn’t frowned and said <em>well, he’s not wrong</em>.</p>
<p>‘You know,’ Maman says, picking up the bowl again and beginning to strip the lavender into it. ‘I used to wonder if I did the right thing, marrying you to Henry. I thought – well, you’d be just as happy as a nun as a wife, perhaps I shouldn’t have intervened. Do you know when I knew I’d done the right thing?’</p>
<p>‘When?’</p>
<p>‘The moment you saw Harry for the first time,’ Maman says. ‘The <em>look </em>on your face, Mary.’</p>
<p>Mary nods. She remembers that moment well – all the months of waiting, of carrying him around with her and loving him fiercely was nothing to being able to <em>see </em>her son, to have him placed on her chest. She had not known what it was want something so much it made you sick until she saw him.</p>
<p>‘You’re a good mother, Mary,’ Maman says. ‘Anyone who’s seen you with them knows that.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary wakes at dawn to the sound of her door creaking and stampeding small feet. She pushes herself up onto an elbow just as her bed hangings are yanked open. Harry scrambles up onto the mattress, turning to help Thomas pull himself up. Mary smiles, reaching to hug them to her, kissing their sleep-mused hair.</p>
<p>‘Joanne’s sleeping, Mama,’ Harry tells her. ‘I told Agneta.’</p>
<p>‘Good boy,’ Mary whispers. ‘And John?’</p>
<p>Thomas frowns and imitates a snore. Mary giggles.</p>
<p>‘We heard the bells, Mama,’ he says, breathless. ‘And we couldn’t sleep. I wanted a cuddle.’</p>
<p>He scowls so fiercely that Mary giggles, hugging him tighter.</p>
<p>‘And I wanted to see the baby,’ Harry says.</p>
<p>‘The baby won’t be here for a couple more months, love,’ Mary says. But her smile is as sweet as her son. She loves how much Harry enjoys being a big brother. ‘But I’m sure she’s happy to know you’re both here.’</p>
<p>Harry nods. He traces patterns on her belly, some of them words – <em>baby, love, mama</em> – that make her heart swell, and then he pauses.</p>
<p>‘Can we feed ducks today?’</p>
<p>‘Oh, we most definitely can,’ Mary says. ‘And maybe tomorrow as well. But there’s more to do here than just feeding ducks.’</p>
<p>She strokes their hair, feels their fingers make new shapes on her belly and holds them close to her.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Bytham is more familiar to Harry and Thomas than Lincoln; they’ve come with her on previous visits to see Maman. Still, it’s strange enough that they spend a good couple of days thoroughly exploring the town and Maman’s gardens again – and introducing John to them, since he’s big enough to properly involve himself – before they settle into the rhythm of their favourite places.</p>
<p>It amazes Mary how much the boys grow in the few short days they’re at Bytham. John has picked up more words – in addition to <em>Mama, Janey, Harry, Tom, Papa, yes </em>and <em>no, </em>he’s now calling every furry creature he sees a puppy, including a rat they’re unfortunate enough to stumble over one day. Thomas is determinedly picking out what <em>he </em>wants to wear and Harry, with much coaxing, has managed to copy out the first line of the Paternoster.</p>
<p>It is a good, simple life, really – Mary doesn’t have to worry too much about how the household is run since Maman takes care of everything and she can spend the time sleeping or playing with her boys or praying in the chapel.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>There are small disasters – with three boys, there always are. Squabbles between Harry and Thomas over who gets to play France or England in their games, scraped knees and torn hose, broken toys, spilt and thrown food, Harry fighting his naps even when his eyes are sliding shut, the struggle to convince Thomas to keep his clothes on, John’s penchant for grumpiness when he doesn’t get his way – and, above all, Thomas’s general delight in chaos. But Mary is familiar with these disasters, knows how to manage them.</p>
<p>If she sings to Harry, he forgets he doesn’t <em>want </em>to sleep long enough that his body sinks into slumber. If she distracts Thomas with a game or a toy, he loses his grim determination to tug his hose off and run about screaming. A kiss always drags John away from his sulks. And she must always be ready to duck, especially when the boys are invested in a game of throwing mud or food – last winter, she made the mistake of introducing them to snow fight and endured Harry’s tears when he accidentally hit her in the face with a snowball.</p>
<p>The bigger disasters are harder to deal with. Thomas <em>somehow </em>broke a bowl and <em>somehow </em>stood on one of the broken pieces hard enough that it pierced the sole of his foot. The pain doesn’t seem to have hit him yet, he’s more stunned at the amount of blood leaking out of his foot than everything. But when he is scolded by Jane for breaking the bowl, for not staying still like he was told, he bursts into noisy sobs. Mary scoops him up, holding him close, and he buries his face in her neck, sobbing hard.</p>
<p>‘Shh, shh,’ Mary says. ‘Jane, the physician – will you?’</p>
<p>Jane dips her head in a nod and practically flees. Mary kisses Thomas’s hair, rocking him gently. Harry and John are staring, wide-eyed, and Mary glances at Joanne.</p>
<p>‘Come on, boys,’ Joanne says. ‘Why don’t we go and look at the gardens?’</p>
<p>She picks up John and rests him on her hip and takes Harry’s hand firmly.</p>
<p>‘Thomas?’ Harry says.</p>
<p>Mary smiles at him. ‘He’ll be fine, love. I promise.’</p>
<p>Harry goes with Joanne and John, looking back over his shoulder worriedly. Mary sits down on a chair, biting back the groan that wants to break free. She’s getting too big to carry him like this. Agneta offers a thick cloth to put under Thomas, to stop more blood from getting on her gown and Mary smiles gratefully before dedicating herself to soothing Thomas.</p>
<p>‘What’s all this noise, hmm?’ she says, feeling his chest shake with the force of his sobs. ‘You’re alright, love. The physician will come and bandage you right up and everything will be fine.’</p>
<p>He settles down eventually, still sniffling now and again and Mary keeps stroking his hair. Her heart pounds against her ribs but she tells herself that all will be well. Children have accidents like this all the time. If the wound is washed and kept clean, it will heal well and Thomas will soon forget about his hurt.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Thomas asks quietly. ‘Am I a bad boy?’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says as quickly and firmly as her breaking heart will allow. ‘Not at all.’</p>
<p>‘But I <em>always </em>break things,’ Thomas says. And – and – you and Jane. Always telling me <em>inside </em>voice or <em>not </em>so fast and – and <em>careful!</em>’</p>
<p>Mary smiles at his perfect imitation of Jane’s <em>careful! </em>and hugs him tighter.</p>
<p>‘That doesn’t make you bad, my sweet boy,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t.’</p>
<p>He frowns, leaning into her, ‘Am I stupid then?’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says, feeling her heart crack again. ‘Not at all. You’re smart, love – it’s just that sometimes you don’t think things through because you want to experience everything as quickly as possible. And it’s such a joy to see, Thomas, but sometimes we worry that you’ll end up hurt yourself by rushing. Like today.’</p>
<p>He nods and she bends her head to kiss his cheeks.</p>
<p>‘Jane’s angry.’</p>
<p>‘Jane’s <em>worried</em>,’ Mary corrects. ‘Sometimes when people worry, it makes them seem angry. It’s not very nice, being worried, is it?’</p>
<p>He shakes his head and utters a long, drawn-out <em>no. </em></p>
<p>‘I promise you, when Jane and I scold you, we still love you,’ Mary says. ‘We’ll never stop loving you, love.’</p>
<p>‘Even if I’m <em>really </em>naughty?’</p>
<p>Mary laughs and kisses him. ‘Especially then. Do you know how much I love you?’</p>
<p>His eyes are wide as he shakes his head.</p>
<p>‘Picture a big, big forest,’ Mary says. ‘The trees are ten times as big as normal trees and it goes on and on. It’d take at least four times as long to pass through it as it did for us to travel to Lincoln. And – beyond it, the ocean. All big and blue and going on for forever and ever. Can you see it, love?’</p>
<p>He nods. ‘It’s so <em>big.</em>’</p>
<p>‘Exactly. And only a tiny bit of my love for you could fit into all that space. That’s how much I love you.’</p>
<p>He smiles at her, snuggling in and she swoops down to kiss him. As she straightens, Jane returns with the physician trailing behind her. She kisses Thomas again.</p>
<p>‘You will have to be very, <em>very </em>brave now, Thomas.’</p>
<p>When it is over, Thomas is sobbing again but his foot is washed and bandaged. Mary tells him how brave he’s been and that it’s over now. She shows him the bloodied pottery shard the physician pulled from his foot – it seems so small to have hurt him so badly – and it distracts him well enough. He pores over it, nudging it with a finger and then asks if he can keep it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jane carries Thomas out to the gardens and sets him down on the blanket beside John, warning him to be careful with his foot. He nods very earnestly – no doubt his foot is still throbbing from the physician’s care. Mary settles herself beside them both, taking John’s kiss with a smile. Harry comes pelting over, stopping short to stare at Thomas.</p>
<p>‘Alright?’</p>
<p>Thomas shrugs. ‘Hurts.’</p>
<p>Mary brushes her hand over Thomas’s hair and Harry tugs at her sleeve.</p>
<p>‘Mama kiss it better?’ he says.</p>
<p>‘I’ll try,’ she says, leaning over to kiss Thomas’s cheek. ‘Maybe you and John should too, hmm?’</p>
<p>Harry nods very seriously, turning to pull John closer by his demi-gown. They both kiss Thomas, who beams under the attention, and then they’re giggling, curling up with her. Mary lies back on the blanket and watches the clear sky. Thomas ends up falling asleep, his head on her shoulder, and Harry ambles off with Joanne to play with his ball – it makes Mary sad to see him go off on his own without Thomas, who is usually a constant companion. She feels the baby kick inside her and draws John’s hand, lets him feel it.</p>
<p>‘That’s your sister, love,’ she says. ‘She wants so much to meet you.’</p>
<p>He gives her a rather dubious look, tapping his fingers back against the baby’s foot. Mary bites back her laughter.</p>
<p>‘My grumpy boy,’ she says. ‘You’re going to be such a good big brother.’</p>
<p>‘No.’</p>
<p>Mary can’t hold back her laughter this time, leaning in to smother his cheeks with kisses. ‘I love you. So much.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘I hear Thomas had an incident today,’ Maman says.</p>
<p>Her head is bowed over her embroidery – a delicate little cap for the baby – but her eyes are fixed on Mary, assessing.</p>
<p>‘He broke a bowl and then cut his foot on the shards,’ Mary says. She thinks of the blood and shudders, folding her arms across her belly. ‘I think he’ll be alright – but it’ll be a struggle to stop him from walking on his foot until it’s healed.’</p>
<p>Maman shakes her head and sets her needle down, stretching out her arms. ‘The pain will teach him surer than a warning.’</p>
<p>Mary looks down, tasting bile. She doesn’t like to think of any of her sons in pain.</p>
<p>‘It happens, Mary,’ Maman says. ‘Children break things, children hurt themselves – especially boys. They scare the life out of you in a hundred ways.’</p>
<p>‘Did I ever scare you?’</p>
<p>Maman thinks it over. ‘You were a good girl, really. A few bumps and grazes, nothing serious – nothing like Thomas’s foot. The thing that worried me was that you were so sweet, Mary. I used to think, <em>what if someone tries to take advantage, what if someone makes her do something</em>. You worry about that with girls more than boys, and you were so sweet – I worried that you’d be easy to manipulate.’</p>
<p>Mary swallows. She hugs her belly a little tighter, wondering what sort of trials that her daughter will have to go through on her own, whether she will be as good as her mother in protecting and teaching her daughter.</p>
<p>‘You always taught me,’ Mary says, ‘that what I wanted mattered. That I didn’t have to say yes just to please anyone, even if they got upset with me.’</p>
<p>‘I’m glad,’ Maman says. ‘It wasn’t easy – I didn’t want to change who you were but I wanted you safe. Happy.’</p>
<p>‘I am, Maman.’</p>
<p>‘Good.’</p>
<p>Mary picks up her sewing – a new demi-gown for John – and holds her needle above the collar, biting her lip.</p>
<p>‘Maman, will you teach me how to do the same?’</p>
<p>‘I will try,’ Maman says firmly. ‘But you will have to find what works best for your own girls.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>After a week, the physician declares Thomas’s foot healed enough for travel and Mary, growing anxious to be back in Kenilworth in case her time comes early, gives the order that they will leave in a few days. Maman joins them on one their afternoon visits to the garden. Thomas has recovered enough that he forgets how tender his foot is and leaps up to chase after Harry and then has to stop, breath stuttering as he balances on his uninjured foot.</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Maman says. ‘Do you want me to stay with you for the birth?’</p>
<p>Mary looks down at her hands resting on the swell of her belly. ‘I will never say no to having you with me, Maman. But… you have much to do here. And Eleanor – and her children – will be there.’</p>
<p>‘Hopefully not Gloucester as well,’ Maman says, wrinkling her nose. ‘I love him dearly but he’s not the best man to have nearby when you are giving birth. Practically useless. Lancaster would be useless as well, I wager.’</p>
<p>‘Katherine was good,’ Mary says. ‘I think Constanza would be as well.’</p>
<p>‘But Lancaster should stay away until after the birth,’ Maman says firmly. ‘Though I suppose he wants to be godfather.’</p>
<p>‘He missed out on being godfather for the boys,’ Mary says. ‘It’s fair and reasonable that he would take an interest in this one.’</p>
<p>‘But,’ Maman says. ‘You don’t want him there.’</p>
<p>‘He scares the boys,’ Mary says quietly, watching as Harry comes running over with a feather each for John and Thomas. ‘He scares Henry.’</p>
<p>Maman huffs a sigh. ‘I’m not surprised.’</p>
<p>‘Maman,’ Mary says. ‘It won’t be for a while but I want to ask now – when Harry is old enough to leave the nursery, will you take him into your household?’</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Maman says, her eyes bright. ‘He’d be an absolute pleasure to have.’</p>
<p>‘And you’re not as scary as Lancaster.’</p>
<p>‘Well, not to my children and grandchildren,’ Maman says with a grin.</p>
<p>She turns to John, lifting him up and putting him on his feet. His mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ and he looks at them, wide-eyed, his feather clutched in his hand.</p>
<p>‘Why don’t you walk over to your mama,’ Maman says. ‘And give her a big kiss?’</p>
<p>And John, bless his heart, does. Unsteady and lurching, but he gets there only to fall against her chest and tilt his head up, straining to kiss her. Mary laughs and rewards him with a kiss, holding him tight as his cheeks turn pink.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Kenilworth, September 1390</strong>
</p>
<p>By the time they return to Kenilworth, summer has lost the sharp edge of its heat and given way to autumn. The nights have become cool again and the room of Mary’s confinement seems welcoming, cosy, and filled with a lazy warmth. Her sleep is disturbed and broken, but the cosiness of the room helps soothe her. She spends these restless hours whispering to her baby or reading from her psalter.</p>
<p>Mary will be glad when Eleanor and her children arrive. It will be a distraction for the boys and for herself. They are getting closer and closer to when the baby will be born and she is slowing down, her body protesting no matter what she does. It will be good for the boys to have their aunt with them, to have their cousins to play with – sometimes she worries that they are too dependent on each other, that they will find it hard to be apart when the time comes for them to be established in separate households, and will struggle to make new friends.</p>
<p>And while Mary is in her confinement, holding their sister for the first time, Eleanor and her children will be a distraction for Harry, Thomas, and John. They’ll bask in the attention of their aunt, want to show her and their cousins all their favourite places, and not mind so much that Mary isn’t able to be with them all the time.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘Oh, Mary!’</p>
<p>Eleanor sweeps into the hall and hugs Mary tight, her wiry arms strong and familiar. Mary relaxes into her sister’s embrace, remembers them from her childhood in Pleshey under Eleanor and Gloucester’s care. She remembers the hug Eleanor gave her just before she left to marry Henry, how tight and comforting it was. <em>Don’t worry about my husband, </em>Eleanor said, <em>I’ll deal with him. I am so happy for you and you will be happy too. </em>Eleanor is like their mother in that way – Mary always feels safe and protected with her.</p>
<p>‘Look at you,’ Eleanor says. ‘You’re so big! I always forget how big we get.’</p>
<p>‘I know!’ Mary kisses Eleanor. ‘I think it helps – you don’t remember how much of a pain everything is.’</p>
<p>‘True,’ Eleanor says. ‘You can’t sleep, you can’t walk, you’re so tense you can’t bear to go outside and then, it happens, it hurts like the Devil, and then you hold them and you forget everything.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles, remembering Harry being put in her arms for the first time.</p>
<p>‘And they’re worth every pain.’</p>
<p>Eleanor’s eyes turn downcast briefly and Mary knows she is thinking of her Philippa, who was born two years ago and lived only a handful of days. Mary presses a hand to Eleanor’s arm, squeezing gently. Eleanor’s head snaps up and she turns back, gesturing her children forward for Mary to meet. Her eldest, the only boy, is absent – he has been set up in their uncle’s household, and Mary will miss him. He’s a sweet child of eight years with a fearsome temper and ever fiercer streak of protectiveness, and he adores Harry and Thomas.</p>
<p>But the girls are all precious. Anne is currently obsessed with pretending to be a duchess and wants a baby <em>more than anything </em>to be her plaything and Mary can only hope John’s up for the challenge. Joan is a quiet, studious little girl with a voice loud enough to drown out Thomas, and Isabelle is a delicate little thing with huge eyes and impeccable manners as well as a deep and abiding love of dragons that Mary can’t quite comprehend.</p>
<p>Mary kisses them all and is amazed at how bigger they are since she last saw them. She wonders what her boys will make of having all these girls to play with again, especially now they are without Henry’s quiet concern that boys shouldn’t play with girls even though he always liked playing with Mary when they were children.</p>
<p>‘And where is your duke?’ Mary asks.</p>
<p>‘Staying away,’ Eleanor says with a laugh and a rueful look. ‘This is women’s business, after all.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘Boys,’ Mary calls, pushing the door of the nursery open. ‘Boys, your aunt’s here—’</p>
<p>‘Mama!’ Harry yells and comes racing towards her, Thomas and John following as quickly as they can. He comes to a sharp stop beside Mary, staring up at Eleanor before turning to grasp at Mary’s skirts, his face turning uncertain.</p>
<p>‘Love,’ Mary says, resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘This is your mama’s sister, your Aunt Eleanor. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her, I know.’</p>
<p>Thomas steps forward, staring at Eleanor curiously. ‘Mama’s sister? Like baby’s our sister?’</p>
<p>Eleanor’s brows raise. But Mary nods.</p>
<p>‘Exactly like that.’</p>
<p>‘Ah,’ Harry says and he pushes forward to hug Eleanor’s legs, Thomas following him again. Eleanor laughs and hugs them both, kissing their faces.</p>
<p>‘You’ve grown so much!’ she says. ‘I can’t believe it. You’re such lovely boys, aren’t you? Do you think you’ll like playing with my girls?’</p>
<p>‘Yes!’ Thomas shouts and then winces. ‘Outside voice, Mama. Sorry.’</p>
<p>‘I know,’ she says. ‘And this is John. Who has just learnt to walk.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ Eleanor says, worming her way free of Harry and Thomas to pick John up and cuddle him. ‘Aren’t you?’</p>
<p>‘One of the loveliest,’ Mary says, leaning in to kiss John’s cheek. ‘Why don’t we take the children down to the mere? It’ll the last time I can go for a while.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘John,’ Eleanor says, singsong, ‘can you say <em>duck</em>?’</p>
<p>Mary shades her eyes, sitting up on the blanket. Joanne and Jane are helping Harry, Thomas, Joan, and Isabelle feed the ducks but John, at just fifteen months, has been judged a little too young for such responsibilities. Anne, the eldest, is watching the younger boys like a hawk, sometimes heading off Thomas’s attempts to run in the water when Joanne and Jane are too distracted.</p>
<p>‘Duck?’ Eleanor tries again.</p>
<p>‘Fuck!’ John yelps.</p>
<p>Mary hides her face, ashamed, and then jerks her head up to check no one’s heard. The last thing she wants is for the other children to hear and start chorusing along, but worse would having the chaplain or someone who report back to Lancaster hearing John. But Eleanor only laughs.</p>
<p>‘Close, little one, but duck. With a D. <em>D</em>-uck.’</p>
<p>John’s face screws up in concentration. ‘Fuck!’</p>
<p>Eleanor lets out a peal of laughter and hugs John close. ‘Oh Mary, your face. He can’t help it.’</p>
<p>‘I know,’ Mary says, leaning over to kiss John. ‘But if someone heard—’</p>
<p>‘They’ll know it’s a little boy just learning to speak,’ Eleanor says firmly. ‘John, do you know what baby ducks are called?’</p>
<p>He shakes his head, eyes wide.</p>
<p>‘Ducklings,’ Eleanor says, giving Mary a wicked smile. ‘Can you say, ducklings?’</p>
<p>‘F – fuck – ling?’</p>
<p>‘Very close,’ Eleanor says as Mary winces. ‘<em>Very. </em>Do you know what a cat is?’</p>
<p>‘Puppy!’ John crows, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Puppy, puppy, puppy!’</p>
<p>Mary giggles, enjoying the look of confusion on Eleanor’s face as she leans in to cuddle John to her. On the shore of the lake, Jane shouts as Thomas wades into the water after a mallard. Mary groans and covers her face.</p>
<p>‘Oh, he’s a handful,’ Eleanor says. ‘Don’t worry, Mary, Anne’s getting him out.’</p>
<p>And sure enough, Anne has, picking up a squirming Thomas and carrying him out of the water. Once on the shore again, Anne drops Thomas onto his bottom and gets a handful of mud in the face as thanks for her efforts. Harry comes racing forward, pinning Thomas to the ground for Anne to tickle mercilessly.</p>
<p>‘Boys,’ Eleanor says, voice fond. ‘They’re such beautiful idiots.’</p>
<p>‘Do you think you’ll try for another?’</p>
<p>Eleanor shrugs, her face turning pensive. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we could cope if we… After Philippa, it’s hard. We don’t – don’t want to go through that again.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says gently, reaching for Eleanor’s hands.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know how she’d cope if one of her children died and died so young. Before they could truly live. Some would say, <em>you can always have another, </em>but that isn’t right. All of her boys are so precious, so individual – she couldn’t replicate them. She would miss Harry’s sweetness, Thomas’s wildness, John’s grumpy seriousness, and she would, she hoped, love a new baby like she has loved every baby she has carried within her, not in hope that it would replace her lost child.</p>
<p>John looks between them. ‘Fucks?’ he says with quiet hope.</p>
<p>Eleanor gives a weak little laugh and kisses him, holding him close.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jane brings Thomas, damp and wriggling, up from the shore, setting him firmly on the blanket beside Mary. He yawns widely but hides it with a scowl, climbing to his feet to determinedly go back down to play with Harry and their cousins. Obviously, he doesn’t agree with his nurse that he’s tired and in need of a rest – he wants to play still. Mary catches him by the hem of his doublet, pulling him back.</p>
<p>‘Before you go, may I have a hug please?’ she says.</p>
<p>Thomas’s scowl dissolves into a sweet smile and he hugs her tight, nuzzling in. His body is warm and lax and she thinks if she holds him long enough, he might forget his desire to play with the others.</p>
<p>‘Mama, where Papa?’</p>
<p>Mary takes a breath, holds it and then lets it go. ‘I don’t rightly know, love. Somewhere far away, in Lithuania.’</p>
<p>‘Where Lith – Lith?’ he stumbles over the pronunciation and Mary hugs him tight.</p>
<p>She wishes she had a drawing of the world to show him where England is and where Lithuania is, wishes she could trace for him the journey Henry is going on.</p>
<p>‘Over the sea and many, many miles away,’ Mary says. ‘Over a whole month’s worth of travel.’</p>
<p>Thomas’s eyes grow huge. ‘Further – further than London?’</p>
<p>‘Much, much further,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>‘But Papa home soon?’</p>
<p>Mary wants to tell him yes but she cannot – she cannot even promise Henry will be home in time for the Christmas celebrations. ‘No, love. We’ll have to spend a long time without him.’</p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Thomas says, face screwing up and breath hiccupping.</p>
<p>‘Why don’t we write to Papa, hmm?’ Mary says, aware of Joanne coming up with Harry on her hip. ‘When we go back inside, we’ll write to him and tell him how much you all miss him and hopefully, that’ll make him come home quicker.’</p>
<p>Thomas nods miserably, curling into Mary’s belly. ‘Will – will Papa come for baby?’</p>
<p>‘No, love,’ Mary says, wishing she could fix things for him. ‘I’m sorry. It’ll still be just us then.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>In the evening, when the children are asleep, Eleanor comes to the room set aside for Mary’s confinement. She makes a careful study of it, pulling back the tapestries to stare out the windows and testing the firmness of the bed. At last, she takes a seat on the settle beside Mary.</p>
<p>‘Do you wish Maman was here? Or Katherine?’</p>
<p>Mary shrugs. ‘Yes and no. It feels strange to be giving birth without either of them but – I can’t have them with me for every birth. And Katherine has a new life now that Lancaster is returned.’</p>
<p>‘Quite,’ Eleanor says, lips compressing into a small line.</p>
<p>‘Oh, don’t,’ Mary says. ‘Katherine has been so lovely to me.’</p>
<p>‘I have no quarrel with her,’ Eleanor says. ‘I quite like her, actually – but how can you condone what she has done? Or rather, what Lancaster has made of her?’</p>
<p>‘I don’t,’ Mary says, cheeks flushing. ‘I know they live in sin. But – she is a kind woman, a good friend. And – I’ve never seen anything worthy of complaint. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, what is between them.’</p>
<p>‘I suppose,’ Eleanor says. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t understand what draws her to him.’</p>
<p>Mary shudders and groans. ‘Oh, no, don’t, don’t. I don’t want to think about <em>that</em>.’</p>
<p>‘Sorry, sorry,’ Eleanor says. ‘What I mean is – his personality leaves something to be desired. It must be his money.’</p>
<p>Mary rolls her eyes. ‘I could say the same about Gloucester.’</p>
<p>‘I know he’s a nightmare,’ Eleanor says. ‘I have to sometimes live with him after all. Except I was the one with money, not him.’</p>
<p>‘True,’ Mary says, remembering Gloucester’s firm belief that he had been promised the entirety of the Hereford inheritance and that Lancaster had conspired to cheat him of it out of spite alone.</p>
<p>‘Have you been to see the queen?’ Eleanor asks. ‘Only – he’s been agitating for it. I’m not sure how to tell him that she’d sooner stick pins in her eyes than have me attend her.’</p>
<p>Mary shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘I feel ashamed of it all. Queen Anne is a good woman, one of the best, and she was so kind to me when I was in confinement with Thomas but then – everything has been so ugly. Lancaster thinks I should, though.’</p>
<p>‘Perhaps you should,’ Eleanor says thoughtfully. ‘She won’t carry a grudge against you – your husband was less involved than mine and she’s always liked you better than me. Probably knows you wouldn’t have approved.’</p>
<p>‘Henry kept saying it was for the best,’ Mary says. ‘That we were only doing what was right, trying to <em>help </em>the king.’</p>
<p>‘Fools,’ Eleanor said. ‘Oh, I don’t want to talk about it, Mary. It’s over now. We must make friends again.’</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Mary says but she doesn’t think the king or queen will forget what was done to them. ‘Anyway, I think it would be cruel to take my boys to see Anne when she has none of her own.’</p>
<p>‘Perhaps,’ Eleanor says and she has a look in her eye, one that says she knows more about it than Mary. ‘But you told me how much joy she took in Harry, perhaps she will enjoy seeing him and his brothers.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe. It feels wrong, though, that I am blessed so much and she isn’t…’ Mary sighs and scrubs a hand over her face. ‘Will you stay with me? Tonight? Oh – but I will probably keep you up. It’s hard to sleep, with this little one as big as she is.’</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Eleanor says, leaning over to squeeze Mary’s hands. ‘I don’t mind. Company’s good. And – I want to ask. Are you sure this is a girl?’</p>
<p>‘Almost entirely,’ Mary says. ‘It doesn’t feel or look any different than the boys – but I can’t have four boys in a row, can I? It’s time for a girl, surely.’</p>
<p>‘Surely,’ Eleanor says. ‘Though I did manage to have four girls in a row.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary spends the afternoon going through the inventory lists with her receiver, Borgoyne, and making fresh orders for food, firewood, and fabric when she finds their stores are lacking. It’s dull, tedious work, made difficult by the fact that soon she will be in confinement and unable to see to such things for at least a month. Borgoyne goes in search of the wine inventory and Mary stands up to stretch and exchange the discomfit of sitting for the discomfit of standing. She thinks longingly of the children.</p>
<p>It is a grey day and she thought it would rain and spoil Eleanor’s intentions to take the children out into the courtyard for a flower feast – an old game she and Mary used to play as children, where they would make up a small table and serve up edible flowers and whatever treats they could cajole from the cooks. But the weather has held up so far, at least as far as Mary can tell, and it must be a magnificent flower feast.</p>
<p>Borgoyne returns with the wine inventory, his eyes skimming over it before passing it to her.</p>
<p>‘I think – just our usual wine order,’ Mary says once she’s read it. ‘With his lordship gone, we don’t need as much but given the circumstances… that little bit extra may tide us over my confinement.’</p>
<p>‘As you say, my lady,’ Borgoyne says, making a note in his wax tablet. ‘And with the colder weather coming, it may be prudent to have a little more so we can mull it with spices.’</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Mary says, resting her hands on her belly. ‘Is there anything else?’</p>
<p>‘I don’t think so,’ Borgoyne says. ‘You’ll need to speak to Thornby about the children’s clothes but I believe we’ve ordered everything we need to. If I think of anything, I will send word.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles at him, glad she is supported by such conscientious servants. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘You are a God-send.’</p>
<p>Once free of his office, she walks, restless in her skin. Her body hurts, the baby is turning circles, and she is tired and lonely. <em>Lonely, </em>she thinks and presses her forehead against the cold glass of a window<em>. </em>As if she did not have her boys with her, as if Eleanor and her children weren’t visiting, as if Maman and Katherine would not have come if she asked them to. Henry is gone and she misses him dreadfully but he isn’t – isn’t the piece missing that makes her lonely.</p>
<p>Rain thuds against the window and Mary jumps back, watching the drops hit the glass and speed across the warped surface. She strokes a hand over the baby in her belly, trying to soothe her, and thinks that she must speak to the tailor, have new winter clothes made up for the boys. But she hears one of the courtyard doors pulled open, the querulous, piping voices of disappointed children, and decides she will see Thornby later, she wants her boys.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>By the time Mary has made her way down, the children have been settled in the solar. Mary stands in the doorway, watching. Harry, Thomas, and Isabelle are building a castle of wooden blocks, Joan is lying on her belly by the fire, head bent over a Latin primer, and John is sitting on Anne’s lap, sucking studiously on a piece of marchpane. Mary can only breathe in the sight of them for a long moment, feeling her heart settle, her loneliness ebbing away.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Thomas calls. ‘Mama, look!’</p>
<p>‘That’s a mighty castle,’ she says. ‘But can it be defended?’</p>
<p>Isabelle nods firmly. ‘We have a <em>whole </em>army of knights.’</p>
<p>‘You need archers too,’ Joan says. ‘Like at Poitiers and Crécy. Archers mean the French can’t get close so you can thrash them.’</p>
<p>She sounds like Gloucester and Mary suppresses a wince as Harry’s head pops up, face alive at interest. She can hardly fault him for his interest but he’s too young to be thinking about real battles – it’s surely enough to play at them with his toys.</p>
<p>‘Archers,’ he says quietly.</p>
<p>‘That’s another game,’ Eleanor says. ‘Stick with your knights for now – and work out who’ll be besieging your castle.’</p>
<p>‘Heretics,’ Thomas says firmly. ‘Like Papa.’</p>
<p>‘Perhaps,’ Mary says, because she doesn’t want to think about the very real dangers Henry is in. ‘Or perhaps there is a dragon?’</p>
<p>‘Yes!’ Isabelle says. ‘Dragons!’</p>
<p>Thomas wavers, a frown creasing his small face and Harry nods. Dragons it is then. Mary takes a seat on the settle beside Anne, bending down to kiss John’s forehead.</p>
<p>‘Is he being good for you?’ she says.</p>
<p>‘Oh yes, Aunt Mary,’ Anne says. ‘He’s such a good boy, I like playing with him. Mama says when I’m old enough, I’ll have a baby like him.’</p>
<p>‘Which won’t be for a long, long time,’ Eleanor says firmly. ‘And after you get married.’</p>
<p>‘Do I have to get married?</p>
<p>Eleanor stifles her laughter. ‘You do if you want a baby.’</p>
<p>Anne’s eyes narrow as her gaze turns assessing. ‘So if I get married tomorrow, I can have a baby immediately?’</p>
<p>‘Good Lord, no,’ Eleanor says, brows shooting up. ‘And who would you marry, anyway?’</p>
<p>Anne scowls, turning her gaze around the room. ‘I could – maybe Harry but he’s <em>so </em>little and – can’t I just keep John? Aunt Mary, <em>please, </em>I’d take such good care of him.’</p>
<p>‘I know you would,’ Mary says. ‘But I’d miss him so much, I couldn’t bear it. And he’d miss his brothers.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Harry turns four on September 16 and Mary takes him to the chapel to give the customary alms, smiling at the studious way he drops the coins into the bowl before he looks up and asks if they can pray for a little while. She brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead, agreeing with him. She really can’t understand Henry picking fault with him. He’s a serious, sweet little boy, given to piety but without sacrificing the joyful innocence of his childhood.</p>
<p>‘Alright,’ she says. ‘But only for a little while – your brothers will be waiting for us to eat.’</p>
<p>They kneel by the altar, Mary cradling her belly, and pray silently for a while. She offers her usual prayers – for her husband and their children, for Eleanor and her family, for Maman and Lancaster, her friends, damsels, and servants, for the king and queen, for the poor and suffering and for those who have died. Then, as she likes to do on each boy’s birthday, she thinks of Harry and everything she would like to happen for him. Her wishes are simple – no great wealth or position, just happiness, health, and life. But, perhaps a little more confidence wouldn’t go astray though.</p>
<p>She finishes her prayers with three Aves and crosses herself, watching Harry mimic her. She smiles and kisses his cheek, pulling herself up.</p>
<p>‘Come,’ she says. ‘You must be hungry.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It is a noisy, busy day. They eat their dinner in the feasting hall just to pretend that the boys are old enough to attend a feast, and, as expected, food goes flying. Thomas is beside himself in excitement, torn between lavishing attention on Harry and telling Mary exactly what he wants when it is his birthday in October. Of course, he’s entirely forgotten about the concept of an inside voice. Not to be outdone, Isabelle is demonstrating to her sisters how a dragon – at least what Mary <em>assumes </em>is a dragon – would attack Eleanor’s dinner plate. John is using the chaos to push his beans to the floor, though he thinks Mary hasn’t noticed, and Harry is stealing Thomas’s portion of the hirchone without fear of retribution.</p>
<p>Mary meets Eleanor’s eyes over the heads of the children and grins. She doesn’t feel too well in herself – the baby is sitting low in her pelvis and her ankles are horribly swollen – but it is good just to watch the children having fun and making chaos.</p>
<p>After dinner, they take the children into the courtyard and they run amuck for a time. Isabelle and Thomas try to climb the trellis for the roses and Jane constantly pulls them down and tries to redirect them with the game Harry, Joan and Anne are playing, where one closes their eyes and the others hide. Joanne has John in her lap, playing a clapping game with him.</p>
<p>‘Harry seems happy,’ Eleanor says, sitting beside Mary on the bench. ‘I can’t believe how big he’s gotten – look at those legs. He must be part colt.’</p>
<p>Mary laughs. ‘He’s going to be a tall one.’</p>
<p>‘I wager he runs very, very fast,’ Eleanor says.</p>
<p>‘He does!’ Mary says, leaning back in effort to make herself comfortable again. ‘I’m lucky he’s the one with the legs and Thomas’s got the wildness.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, Thomas is a worry.’</p>
<p>Thomas lets out a triumphant shout, trying to scale the rose trellis again, struggling when Jane seizes him by the belt and pulls him down. Mary stifles her giggles.</p>
<p>‘They’re all worries,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>A few nights later, it storms. It sounds dreadful. The wind rushes through the trees and hurls itself against the castle walls, rain throws itself down and is caught by the wind, lashed against the windows. Thunder rolls and lightning flashes out. The boys are restless and upset</p>
<p>‘It’s an army of giants!’ Thomas yelps, trying to clamber out of bed. ‘They’re going to beat down our door, crack open the castle and <em>eat </em>us!’</p>
<p>Mary’s not sure whether he’s going to try and fight the storm or hide under his bed but she catches his shoulders and lies him down on the bed again. Jane, red-eyed, is rocking a grizzling John.</p>
<p>‘Mama, Papa’s not here to protect us from the giants,’ Harry says. ‘<em>Again</em>.’</p>
<p>Mary rubs Thomas’s shoulder and leans over to kiss Harry’s forehead, seeing the fear in his eyes. ‘I went to the tower and looked out and there are no giants.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe they’re invisible giants,’ Harry protests and Thomas nods firmly though Mary’s pretty sure neither of them know what <em>invisible </em>means.</p>
<p>‘Oh, love,’ Mary says. ‘There are no giants in England. Or Scotland or Wales. We’re safe, here. It’s just wind and rain. A storm.’</p>
<p>‘But—’</p>
<p>‘Dragons!’ Thomas yells.</p>
<p>John lets out a wail and Jane hugs him tightly.</p>
<p>‘Unfortunately for Isabelle,’ Mary says, ‘St George took care of the last dragon.’</p>
<p>‘Worms?’ Thomas suggests. ‘But big worms.’</p>
<p>Mary imagines a gigantic worm and shudders. ‘No, no worms. It’s just a storm, loves. It sounds big and scary but we are safe and warm in bed and in the morning, it will have passed and the sun might even be out again.’</p>
<p>Thomas is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Mary thinks he is secretly enjoying this, like he used to enjoy his tantrums about having a bath. His eyes light up.</p>
<p>‘Wolves! Giant wolves!’</p>
<p>‘Oh <em>no</em>,’ Harry whispers.</p>
<p>It takes a good while to settle them down properly but, after what feels like hours, they’re finally asleep despite the storm still raging. Mary stands and stretches out her back, exchanging rueful smiles with Joanne and Jane, wishing them luck for the night.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary feels lazy and warm, half-curled on the settle with a cup of warm milk half-drunk in her hand, Eleanor beside her onto her second cup. It’s good to have Eleanor with her again – the old rhythms of their conversations come back easily and they have months of conversations to catch up on. And they are so familiar with each other that they can tell what the other’s thinking with one glance.</p>
<p>‘And how is your son coping with Arundel?’</p>
<p>Eleanor grimaces into her cup.</p>
<p>‘Oh, <em>no,</em>’ Mary whispers.</p>
<p>‘Well, you know what Arundel’s like,’ Eleanor says.</p>
<p>It’s Mary’s turn to grimace. When she was twelve, just after Queen Anne’s coronation, she made the mistake of asking what the new queen was like – which Maman said, later, was a very important question – but Arundel disagreed. <em>Oh Mary, </em>he said, voice perfectly jovial and eyes very cold, <em>you really are an empty-headed girl, aren’t you? </em>And then he went on to say that he hoped Henry would find half of the Hereford inheritance compensation for being duped with such a stupid bride.</p>
<p>She has never told Henry what Arundel said. He wouldn’t like it and that would make his friendship with Arundel awkward. Besides, it hardly matters. Maman and Eleanor said she wasn’t stupid, not at all, and Maman said that Arundel just took delight in feeling superior by insulting everyone else. And Gloucester had even defended her – which was a lot for Gloucester.</p>
<p>‘I do,’ she says. ‘Surely there’s someone else…?’</p>
<p>‘It’s not too bad, though – I think Arundel is a little scared what will happen if Humphrey complains about his treatment,’ Eleanor says. ‘Still, I’m trying to convince my husband to look for another placement. Do you think Lancaster would take Humphrey?’</p>
<p>‘Probably.’ Mary shrugs. ‘He wants Harry.’</p>
<p>‘But…?’</p>
<p>‘He scares Harry,’ Mary says, biting her lip. ‘And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad – I doubt Lancaster is going to concern himself overly with a four-year-old child. But Harry’s so…’</p>
<p>‘Sensitive?’</p>
<p>‘Shy,’ Mary says. ‘Oh, I don’t know – sometimes I think it’s shyness but other times… its something else. Henry scares him. Maybe even more than Lancaster does.’</p>
<p>‘<em>Henry</em>?’ Eleanor says, screwing her face up. ‘I find that hard to believe.’</p>
<p>Mary doesn’t want to be disloyal to Henry by complaining about his behaviour. ‘Harry’s first year was hard,’ she says.</p>
<p>‘I know but – it doesn’t make sense,’ Eleanor says. ‘I mean, Henry’s so gentle with you and the boys.’</p>
<p>Mary shrugs. It doesn’t make sense and it’s not fair of her to complain about Henry to Eleanor. ‘I’ve – managed to hold Lancaster off a bit. It’ll have to happen eventually, though. But Maman will take Harry first. I think that’ll be good for him, spending time with her.’</p>
<p>‘Maman will sort him out,’ Eleanor says. ‘I know you worry but he can’t be shy. Not when he’s going to be Duke of Lancaster one day.’</p>
<p>Mary nods. She supposes Eleanor is right but it’s unfair that Harry is so young and his behaviour is so scrutinized, picked apart and held up as not being good enough.</p>
<p>‘But,’ Eleanor says, reaching out to rub Mary’s knee. ‘He <em>is </em>very young still. And he’ll always be <em>your </em>Harry, whatever happens.’</p>
<p>‘I know,’ Mary says. ‘And I know that I should just let things be – but I know him, Eleanor. I know what he’s like – he’s <em>so </em>bright and sweet-natured. All he needs is the slightest bit of confidence in himself to know he <em>can </em>do something. But all everyone wants to talk about is how shy he is.’</p>
<p>‘Mary…’ Eleanor reaches out and hugs her, rubbing her back gently. ‘I see those things too, Mary. He’s a beautiful, lovely boy that everyone should be proud of, not just you.’</p>
<p>Mary nods. ‘But he has to be the Duke of Lancaster,’ she says.</p>
<p>‘One day but not yet.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘I suppose I should find my own bed,’ Eleanor says. She glances owlishly at the tapestry-covered windows. Outside, the storm still rages without any lessening.</p>
<p>‘Hopefully, it’ll be over by the morning,’ Mary offers. She stands up, rubbing her belly. ‘But you’ll be warm and safe in bed.’</p>
<p>Eleanor laughs. ‘Oh, I know. You don’t need to tuck <em>me </em>into bed and stay until I’m fast asleep.’</p>
<p>A tap at the door interrupts them. Mary nods for Alice to open it, frowning when she sees Joanne. Joanne drops into a curtsy, her eyes drifting from Mary to Eleanor.</p>
<p>‘Your grace. My lady, I just wanted to check that Harry is with you?’</p>
<p>‘No?’ Mary says. She feels sick. Harry sometimes wanders from his nurses but only to see <em>her</em>. And she’s certain she would have heard the door had he snuck in and he would’ve come straight to her for a cuddle. She turns in a circle, casting her eyes around the room. There’s no sign of him.</p>
<p>‘Only, my lady, he’s not in the nursery,’ Joanne says, wringing her hands together. ‘He told Agneta he was going to see you a little while ago, perhaps an hour at most, but—’</p>
<p>‘I let you know if I’ll keep him for the night,’ Mary says. She looks around the room again – he’s <em>not </em>there. She turns her gaze to Eleanor, feeling distinctly ill. ‘Eleanor. Eleanor, he’s not here. Where is he?’</p>
<p>Eleanor crosses to her, takes her hands. ‘He can’t have gone too far.’</p>
<p>Yes. Harry’s only little but he has such long legs. Mary thinks she might vomit. Her son is missing.</p>
<p>‘The doors are all barred,’ Eleanor goes on. ‘He can’t have gone outside.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says. ‘He’d be too frightened.’</p>
<p>‘So we’ll organise a search,’ Eleanor says though her eyes are wild with fear. ‘Alice – rouse the men and have them search in every room. <em>Carefully.</em> Then they are to lock or bar the door once they’re done. They’re to check the outer doors too. Joanne, stay with the other boys. If they wake and worry, soothe them.’</p>
<p>‘What do I do?’ Mary asks quietly. ‘Eleanor?’</p>
<p>‘You need to sit down,’ Eleanor says. ‘Stay here. You’re not in any condition to go searching. And – it’s best we know where you are, so when we find him, we can bring straight to you.’</p>
<p>Mary nods, clutching her belly. <em>When</em>, she thinks and holds onto that, <em>when. </em>When Harry’s found, not if he’s found. She staggers back to the settle and sits down, hugging her belly.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary keeps jumping each time she hears someone at her door, hoping it’s Harry but each time, it’s some piece of news that’s hardly important. Alice returning from rousing the men, Agnes with a posset for Mary. She holds it in her shaking hands and can’t drink it. She knows she’s being foolish, that it will, in all likelihood, take the men a good while to find Harry. But she can’t stop herself from being certain that this time, it will be Harry.</p>
<p>‘Why?’ she asks Eleanor. ‘Why would he do this? He <em>knows </em>his way around, he’s a good boy – why would he say he was coming to see me and then <em>not </em>come?’</p>
<p>Eleanor shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he was coming and got scared and hid? Fell asleep, maybe.’</p>
<p>‘He comes to me when he’s scared,’ Mary says. ‘He always has.’</p>
<p>‘Would he go looking for you somewhere else?’</p>
<p>‘I – I don’t know,’ Mary says. ‘I don’t think so?’</p>
<p>She leans forward, resting her forehead in her hands. The baby moves inside her and she tries half-heartedly to soothe it. Eleanor’s arm slides over her back, holds her close. They can fix this, Mary tells herself, if only they find Harry.</p>
<p>‘Drink your posset,’ Eleanor tells her. ‘It’ll help.’</p>
<p>She’s taken a few sips when there’s another knock at the door. She nearly spills her posset, scrambling to her feet. One of the guards, his face familiar though she can’t recall his name. Probably, he’s here to tell her that they checked the courtyard doors and found them all locked, as they should be. He bows.</p>
<p>‘My lady, Melbourne’s found Lord Harry. In the chapel. He says you should come but not worry, the young lord’s fine, he’s just sleeping.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Melbourne is standing just inside the chapel door, his eyes trained to the alcove where the statue of the Madonna and Child rests, surrounded by half-lit candles. Mary’s eyes follow, see Harry curled up asleep at the feet of the Madonna. He looks – small and weary, a small bundle that she longs to take in her arms and hold tight. She swallows down her relieved tears and presses her hand on Melbourne’s elbow in silent thanks.</p>
<p>‘I checked here first,’ he says quietly. ‘I know the little lord finds Our Lady a comfort.’</p>
<p>‘I should have known,’ Mary says. She shouldn’t have wasted time, sending men how to search in each and every room. Where else would Harry go, if he were not with his brothers or with her, but the chapel?</p>
<p>Melbourne shrugs. ‘Worry makes it difficult to know,’ he says. ‘I didn’t want to get too close in case I woke him but I think he’s being crying.’</p>
<p>‘Crying?’ Mary says, her heart lurching. Maybe the storm has frightened him so badly, maybe it was a bad dream. ‘I’ll see to him. Thank you.’</p>
<p>Mary crosses over to alcove, watching the flames flicker in the wind. Another crash of thunder sounds outside but it seems more distant. She lowers herself carefully down onto the floor, rests her hand against Harry’s small back.</p>
<p>‘Love?’ she whispers. ‘Love, this is no place to sleep.’</p>
<p>Harry wakes up slowly, uncurling to stare at her. Melbourne’s right. There are the tracks of dried tears on his cheeks, his lips red and bitten.</p>
<p>‘Mama, go,’ he says. ‘Go.’</p>
<p>‘Don’t be silly,’ Mary says. ‘I came to find you.’</p>
<p>‘Naughty,’ he says. ‘Naughty, horrible boy.’</p>
<p>Her heart constricts painfully. Where has he picked up those words? Where has he learnt to apply them to himself? She gathers him to her in a tight hug.</p>
<p>‘No,’ she says, voice cracking. ‘Definitely not.’</p>
<p>He shakes his head, clinging to the sleeves of her gown. ‘Yes. Make Papa angry. Too shy. Make Papa and Mama fight. Too scared. Be sent away. Don’t miss Papa. Horrible.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, love, my precious boy,’ Mary says, not knowing where to begin. She tightens her grip on him, kissing his face. ‘You are the very furthest thing from horrible. You are my sweetest boy and a loyal, protective brother to Thomas and John. They – and I – love you so much and so does Papa, even if he’s being very bad at showing it. And it’s alright if you don’t miss him either.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Harry says. ‘Liar. Horrible boy. Should go away.’</p>
<p>‘You must never do that, Harry,’ she whispers, her heart breaking. ‘You’d make me so very sad if you did that.’</p>
<p>She pulls back only to kiss his doubting face and hugs him close, rubbing her hands over his back. He presses his face into her neck, clutching at her and it breaks her heart, how sad he is.</p>
<p>‘Send me away. To Grandmama.’</p>
<p>Mary takes a breath. He must have come to see her and heard her speaking to Eleanor. That must have been what set him off. ‘Not for a long, long time and it’s only because I have to. See, when a boy gets to be around eight – can you show many how fingers that is?’</p>
<p>Harry looks down at his hands and holds up eight fingers. Mary smiles and kisses him.</p>
<p>‘Exactly. When you – or any boy – gets around that age, they go and live with another household. That’s where your cousin is, right now – he’s with the Earl of Arundel instead of your aunt Eleanor. And he’s a lovely boy, isn’t he?’</p>
<p>Harry nods.</p>
<p>‘Can you show me how old you are?’ she says.</p>
<p>He holds up four fingers, starting to smile.</p>
<p>‘Yes! And that means you’ve got a lot of growing to do before you have to live with Grandmama. And do you know how much Grandmama loves you?’</p>
<p>‘Lots!’</p>
<p>‘Yes!’ Mary kisses him again. ‘Lots and lots. Just like me. And I’ll stop loving you and never want to send you away. Not even if you drew all over my best psalter or ripped up my best kirtle for the kitchen cat. Never.’</p>
<p>She takes his hands and lays kisses on his palms. She hopes she can heal from this, that Harry will forget this pain and when Henry comes back, he will learn to be gentler with Harry.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>She has Melbourne carry Harry up to bed since she probably shouldn’t and Harry’s too tired to walk there on his own. Melbourne jokes with Harry, making him giggle all the way, and Harry snuggles into Melbourne’s chest – Mary’s not even sure that Harry <em>is </em>shy; it seems to be just Henry and Lancaster that he has problems with. Melbourne settles Harry on the bed beside Thomas and Mary moves to tuck him in, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>‘Tomorrow, we’ll practice your harp for an hour – you’re doing very well at it, my clever boy,’ she says. ‘Do you want a song or a story now?’</p>
<p>‘Story,’ Harry says. ‘Then song.’</p>
<p>Mary’s lip curve into a smile. ‘That’s fair. What song would you like?’</p>
<p>‘The rose one,’ he says.</p>
<p>‘Alright.’</p>
<p>She brushes his hair back, leans in to kiss him. He watches her with bright, tired eyes, leaning forward to rest his hand against her belly. The baby presses against his palm and a small smile crawls across his face.</p>
<p>‘You know, you were once in my tummy like that,’ she says.</p>
<p>‘Why?’</p>
<p>‘Because that’s where babies grow and you were a baby,’ Mary says. ‘And I loved you from the moment I knew you were there. And I adored carrying you around inside me – it was like you were the most precious secret but only I knew it. I was so excited to meet you, to see your face and hold you properly. And then you came out of my tummy and I held you. I saw your face, your precious, precious face. I thought I’d known what love was before then but when I saw you – I knew that I loved you so much that I’d empty oceans for you. That all the water in the world, all the trees and flowers and all the stars in the sky were nothing compared to how much I loved you.’</p>
<p>‘Really?’</p>
<p>‘Really.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary all but collapses into her own bed after Harry’s fast asleep under Thomas’s possessive arm and she’s spoken with Eleanor, told her what happened and assured her that Harry was alright and she was alright, too. Just exhausted. It isn’t the whole truth. She feels like a stone is caught in the chambers of her heart. Her son, her small, perfect son, had hurt so badly and though she thinks she’s calmed him, she doesn’t think she’s cured him of his hurt.</p>
<p>All she can do is love him more and more but she’ll never be satisfied that’s enough.</p>
<p>The baby wakes her early in the morning and she can’t get back to sleep. The storm is still raging, rain spraying against the windows, and she imagines, shuddering, what it would be like to be outside in it.</p>
<p>She goes to the nursery, lifting John out of his cot and cuddling his sleep-slack body as she slips into Harry and Thomas’s bed, kissing them when they wake with drowsy voices.</p>
<p>‘Shh,’ she says. ‘Go back to sleep.’</p>
<p>‘Mama?’ Thomas says, snuggling in.</p>
<p>‘I’m here. I just wanted to cuddle my boys.’</p>
<p>Harry reaches out, his little palm skating across her face. ‘Love you.’</p>
<p>‘Love you too,’ she whispers and kisses his hand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>October 1390</strong>
</p>
<p>October begins in beauty from what Mary can see from her window. Through the distorted glass, she sees fiery trees against a clear sky, the grounds wet and so brightly green after the September rains. She watches, sometimes, the children being taken out in it but can’t bring herself to join them. It seems unlucky to venture too far from her room, readied for her confinement.</p>
<p>She sits down on the settle, leaning forward for Alice to push an extra cushion between her and the back of the settle, stroking her hands over her belly. She’s close, so close, she is certain the baby will come by the next Sunday. All the signs are there. She tries to make the best of it that she can, having the boys brought in to nap or cuddle with her, but she’s tired and she feels even more exhausted each time she hears about Thomas’s antics.</p>
<p>Mary watches Eleanor settle in the chair opposite her, picking up her embroidery. Mary should be involved in a similar industry, something to keep her hands and mind busy, but she can’t quite bring herself to. She studies the way Eleanor holds her head, the straightness of her back as she begins a new stitch. Eleanor has always been the one most like their mother, the strong one, as if her spine were a sword, but that strength seems tired and brittle, the edges of the sword notched. Though Eleanor never lets Mary see that raggedness except, like now, when she thinks Mary isn’t watching.</p>
<p>It’s only been two years since Eleanor’s last baby, little Philippa, died. Mary cannot comprehend the scale of that loss. To lose a child. It has made her clutch her boys tighter to her, to breath in their scents and try to memorise them, but she cannot imagine the size of the abyss inside Eleanor where Philippa once lived.</p>
<p>‘Are you alright?’ she says.</p>
<p>Eleanor flashes her a small smile. ‘Of course.’</p>
<p>‘Only…’</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Eleanor says. ‘Alright can be – variable. I am better than I was – but it never goes away.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says. ‘But you can complain to me.’</p>
<p>‘I know.’</p>
<p>Eleanor returns to her embroidery and Mary has the demi-gown she is sewing for John brought to her, turning it in her hands and holding it up to judge the size. It is too big for John now but by Christmas, he will have hopefully grown enough that it fits him perfectly – providing Mary can manage to finish it in time.</p>
<p>‘I’ve been told a lot of things,’ Eleanor says. ‘That Philippa didn’t live long and grief for a baby is excessive. That I can always have another one and I should – if there’s another one, I will miss Philippa less.’</p>
<p>‘But that’s—’</p>
<p>‘I can’t, though,’ Eleanor says. ‘I don’t want to go through that again, to risk <em>losing </em>another child. And – the physician said we shouldn’t try for another. Apparently, he’s not sure my body can cope with another pregnancy.’</p>
<p>Mary stares at Eleanor. She knew Eleanor had been weak and ill after Philippa’s birth but she had thought it was grief, not injury, that had laid her low. Mary had been busy worrying about Henry, who had the pox, and Harry and Thomas, who had managed to catch fevers one after the other. By the time she had the focus to do more than pray for Eleanor and Philippa, Eleanor was on her feet again.</p>
<p>‘You never said,’ Mary says, feeling a little sick.</p>
<p>‘No,’ Eleanor says. ‘I didn’t want to tell anyone – the physician told Thomas and Mama so I didn’t have to tell anyone. I thought I’d like to pretend it was my choice, not admit there was no choice.’</p>
<p>‘I’m sorry,’ Mary says. She rubs a hand over her belly, feels her baby moving. She feels suddenly selfish, sitting there fat with her fourth child, while Eleanor will never feel that again. ‘I know it means nothing but I am.’</p>
<p>Eleanor gives her a small smile. ‘Sweet girl.’</p>
<p>Mary bites her lip, looks down at the half-finished demi-gown in her hands. ‘And – are you – oh Eleanor, you do want to be here, don’t you? It doesn’t hurt you to see me pregnant?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t be silly,’ Eleanor says. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to. It doesn’t hurt. Of course, I wish things were different – who wouldn’t? – but it’s a reminder that there are still good things in this world.’</p>
<p>Mary isn’t convinced, not wholly. Perhaps Eleanor needs to believe this is true.</p>
<p>‘I’m glad it seems to help,’ Mary says carefully. ‘But if it stops helping – I understand if you need time away or…’</p>
<p>‘I won’t,’ Eleanor says crisply. ‘But that gown won’t get sewn if you spend all your time worrying.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>At first, Mary isn’t sure what wakes her. She lies on her side, in the bed, and feels her eyes staring across the pillow at the undisturbed bed hangings. It’s dark still, somewhere between Compline and Matins. She thinks of how – a few hours ago, at most – she kissed her boys’ heads and wished them sweet dreams and promised that maybe, tomorrow, she would go out into the courtyard with them and let them show her their new favourite place. Her room is quiet, the only sound the fire burning gently and Amy’s sleeping breath. Yet Mary woke and she is not sure why—</p>
<p>Pain. It’s not bad, not yet, but it’s an incessant cramping ache, but she knows it. She calls out for Amy, reaching beneath her pillow for her Paternoster beads, pressing them between her fingers. <em>Breathe, </em>she thinks, <em>remember to breathe and pray. </em>But all she can do is squeeze her eyes shut and grit her teeth.</p>
<p>Amy pulls back the bed hangings, blinking blearily at Mary. ‘Is it time, my lady?’</p>
<p>Mary nods. Amy presses a hand to her shoulder and flees. Mary makes herself sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She grabs hold of her belly as another contraction begins to climb inside her. All she can hear is the sound of her gasping breath. She reaches out, grasps hold of the bedpost and sees her knuckles turn white.</p>
<p>The door swings open and suddenly, she is not alone. Eleanor rushes over, puts her arm around Mary’s back.</p>
<p>‘Right,’ she says. ‘Walking will help.’</p>
<p>‘Not enough,’ Mary says but she allows her sister to push her to her feet.</p>
<p>‘Better than nothing,’ Eleanor says.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The bells are ringing for Matins. Mary blinks away the sweat dripping into her eyes and groans sharply, clutching at Eleanor’s hand and the bedding beneath her. She grits her teeth, feeling the pain rise and rise within her. It seems unendurable, the most painful thing in existence, and yet endure she must. The pain has its jaws in her, the incisors digging deeper, burning. But it begins to slowly release her. Mary gasps and lies back, staring at the bed-hangings. Amy reaches out, wiping Mary’s face with a damp cloth and murmurs a prayer to St Anne.</p>
<p>‘You’re doing so well,’ Eleanor says, pale-faced. ‘So well, Mary.’</p>
<p>Mary grimaces at her, lifting her head to drink the heavily watered wine Amy offers her. ‘I hate this part,’ she says. ‘I <em>hate </em>it.’</p>
<p>Eleanor bites down a smile and squeezes Mary’s hand. ‘Remember, it’ll be worth it.’</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Mary says. ‘Worth it.’</p>
<p>She feels her breath begin to quicken again, her body urging her to push. She looks down at her bared belly, the holy girdle fastened around it. Her baby girl, her Blanche. All this for her and of course – of course, she’ll be worth it. All of her boys have been worth it.</p>
<p>‘My lady,’ the midwife says. ‘It’s time. I can see the head. Push.’</p>
<p>‘Oh God,’ Mary says, clutching at Eleanor’s hand and bracing herself.</p>
<p>She screams, her efforts at prayers dissolving at the onset of fresh, burning pain. Her nails slice into Eleanor’s hand.</p>
<p>‘Stop,’ the midwife barks. ‘Don’t push, don’t push. Just hold.’</p>
<p>‘What?’ Mary gasps, tears running down her face. All she wants to do is push and push until the baby is born. ‘What?’</p>
<p>‘Shh,’ Eleanor says, but her face is panicked, her neck craning to see.</p>
<p>Mary jerks at the feel of the midwife’s hand against her, her body aching in the effort to hold herself still, to do as the midwife says. She feels, numbly, Amy blotting at her tears, resting the cool cloth across her brow, Eleanor’s hand closing tight around hers.</p>
<p>‘Push,’ the midwife says. ‘Now, now, <em>now.</em>’</p>
<p>There’s something wrong with her voice but Mary cannot decipher it, cannot ponder it, letting her body do what it so desperately wants to do. She bears down, gritting her teeth against the scream of agony building inside her. And then it is over. It is done. She falls back against the pillow, waits for the glorious sound of her baby girl’s cry.</p>
<p>There’s silence.</p>
<p>‘No,’ Eleanor says softly. ‘No, no, no.’</p>
<p>She tears her hand away from Mary’s, strides forward. Mary watches her. Blanche should be crying. Why isn’t she crying?</p>
<p>‘Oh God,’ Eleanor says. ‘Not today, not <em>Mary</em>, you cannot—’</p>
<p>Mary struggles up onto her elbows. She sees a glimpse of the baby, bloodied and blue in the midwife’s arms. Mary lets out a cry, covering her mouth. No, no, no, not her baby, not <em>her baby. </em>She reaches out and catches the back of Eleanor’s gown, trying to pull her back. She shouldn’t see this. There’s a sound of a slap and Mary flinches.</p>
<p>‘Come on,’ the midwife is saying. ‘Come on, little one, I know you can do it – just <em>try.</em>’</p>
<p>Mary closes her eyes, wishes she could close her ears. This is what happened with Harry and she was terrified. But she doesn’t want to hope. She reaches for her beads, holds them within her fingers. Her mouth opens but she can’t think of a prayer, even the words of the Paternoster elude her. The Ave, then.</p>
<p>‘Holy Mother,’ she starts but can’t remember anything but she has to think of something. ‘Mary, help—’</p>
<p>Another slap. The baby lets out a heartbroken wail.</p>
<p>Mary’s eyes jerk open, she hears Eleanor let out a muffled sob and bites her lip. The baby keeps screaming, face turning red, and Mary reaches out. The midwife gives her a relieved, harried smile, and sets the baby in Mary’s arm, wrapping a blanket around them both.</p>
<p>‘Keep him warm,’ she says.</p>
<p>Mary nods, stroking her fingers over the bald head, watching the slate-coloured eyes stare furiously at her until she bends to kiss the mottled forehead. Then she stops. The midwife said <em>him. </em>Surely not – it’s just the panic of the moment, the midwife is making assumptions. Mary pulls back the blanket and then bites down her laugh. A fourth boy.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>After they have washed her, they move her to the fresh, clean bed they have set up near the fire. Mary lies against a veritable mountain of pillows, watching her newest son sleep in her arms. She still can’t believe it – <em>another boy</em>. But he is perfect, his tiny hand curling and uncurling beside her breast and she loves him fiercely.</p>
<p>‘Are you disappointed?’ Eleanor says, sitting down beside her on the bed. ‘Another boy?’</p>
<p>‘How can I be disappointed?’ Mary says. ‘Look at him. He’s beautiful.’</p>
<p>Eleanor laughs and tucks an arm around Mary. ‘Rather red and blotchy, though. But all newborns are.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles, letting her hands cradle the baby’s skull. ‘They are. At least he doesn’t have poor John’s nose.’</p>
<p>‘It’s character-forming, that nose,’ Eleanor says with a grin.</p>
<p>She wraps a shawl over Mary’s shoulders, glancing down at the baby. Longing and envy chase each other across her face and Mary supposes she is thinking about how she’ll never have this precious moment of cradling her newborn baby again. Mary reaches out and takes Eleanor’s hand, squeezing it tight. Eleanor squeezes back.</p>
<p>‘Have you thought of a name yet?’ Eleanor says. ‘You could name him after our father.’</p>
<p>‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Mary says. ‘It makes the most sense – I could name him after the king except Henry said <em>anything </em>but Richard.’</p>
<p>‘Anything?’ Eleanor laughs, tracing a finger over the baby’s cheek, ‘That’s too much power. You should name him something obscure and odd, just to see Henry’s face when you tell him.’</p>
<p>Mary giggles. But she wouldn’t get to see Henry’s face – she’ll have to write and tell Henry that they have a fourth son and what name she’s chosen and he’ll read about it in Lithuania, miles and miles away from her.</p>
<p>‘I’d have to write and tell him, though, which would spoil the fun.’</p>
<p>Eleanor gives a playful little grimace. ‘True. And I suppose this one might never forgive you if you land him with an outlandish name.’</p>
<p>‘God forbid it,’ Mary says, bending her head to kiss her baby’s forehead. His nose wrinkles, his eyes drift open to stare at her and Mary smiles down at him. ‘Oh little one, you have a name now – Humphrey.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Margaret takes Humphrey from Mary and swaddles him tightly. He’s like Harry was, dazed and docile, accepting the situation without any sign of protest – Thomas had screamed non-stop and John had exploded into noisy sobs once he’d been swaddled. Mary watches Humphrey’s face, worrying. He’s so little and the fact he came out blue and breathless makes her feel as if at any moment, he’ll stop breathing again and the midwife won’t be able to rouse him back to life.</p>
<p>‘Margaret,’ Mary says, anxiety creeping in her voice.</p>
<p>‘I will a careful watch over him,’ Margaret says, ‘and keep him warm, my lady.’</p>
<p>It’s all she can do but it isn’t enough. Mary crushes her eyes shut and feels exhaustion cling to her. She gentles herself and manages to thank Margaret. It is in God’s hands, she tells herself, but it doesn’t comfort her as it should.</p>
<p>She lies back on the pillows. The room is growing quiet, her women settling down to rest after the night. There are things Mary must do – the news must be sent to Henry and Lancaster, her boys have been told and brought to see their newest brother and there is Humphrey’s baptism to organise, his godparents to choose. But these are things that can wait – she is tired, a bone-deep, bone-heavy weariness working its way through her.</p>
<p>She listens for Humphrey, the softness of his sleeping breaths.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When Mary wakes, she lies stiff and sore in her bed and lets everything come back to her slowly. She can hear the fire and quiet conversations, gentle rain falling outside but she can’t hear Humphrey. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, he’s probably just sleeping but she pushes herself up hurriedly, biting her tongue at the sharp pain stabbing through her.</p>
<p>‘Where is he?’ she calls. ‘Is he there? Is he alright?’</p>
<p>‘He’s fine, my lady,’ Amy says. ‘Just be still and Margaret will bring him over.’</p>
<p>Mary grits her teeth and lets Amy fuss over her, rearranging the pillows, but she doesn’t relax until Margaret is there, holding Humphrey.</p>
<p>‘How is he?’ she asks and puts her arms out.</p>
<p>Margaret gently lowers Humphrey into Mary’s arms and Mary holds him close, watching him greedily. His eyes open to regard her before drifting shut as he yawns. She kisses him twice, in quick succession, and turns her face up so Margaret will tell her how he’s been.</p>
<p>‘He’s been a lovely, normal little baby,’ Margaret says, tucking a shawl around Mary and Humphrey. ‘He slept, he ate, he soiled himself and started the whole vicious cycle all over again.’</p>
<p>Mary giggles and bends her head to kiss Humphrey again, studying his face. He looks so much like Harry did – he’s bigger and his lips aren’t as full and he has no hair but the rest of him is much like Harry. She takes Humphrey’s tiny hand in her own, studies his fingers and their miniature nails. It always amazes her how small and perfect babies are. She presses a kiss to his palms, snuggles him close.</p>
<p>He seems no different than her other boys. No matter how closely she looks at him, she can find nothing that suggests he wasn’t breathing when he was born. Still, she watches him carefully, unable to fully believe that he’s safe and well.</p>
<p>‘We should have him baptised as soon as possible,’ she says.</p>
<p>‘I’ll send someone to the chaplain to arrange it,’ Margaret says.</p>
<p>Mary thanks her. She will have to choose Humphrey’s godparents from amongst her household here – before he was born, when she thought he was a girl and would be born healthy and strong, she thought to ask Lancaster and his wife Constanza since they had been away and unable to stand as godparents for her eldest boys but they are so far away, it would take at least a week for them to come and as much as Humphrey seems to be well now but she cannot forget the shocking silence of his birth, the desperation in the midwife’s voice.</p>
<p>She lowers her head, kisses Humphrey’s cheek again, breathes the milk-sweet scent of him in. He’s here, he’s here, breathing and sleeping warmly in her arms. He’s fine. Fine.</p>
<p>‘And we must send word to my husband, my mother and the Duke of Lancaster,’ Mary says, ‘to tell them we have another – another fine, young boy. That we are both well and healthy.’</p>
<p>Margaret nods. ‘Of course, my lady. Did you want to dictate the letters yourself?’</p>
<p>Mary shakes her head. ‘No, no, there’s no need.’</p>
<p>Humphrey begins to cry, turning his head instinctively to her breasts and Mary smiles, stroking his face.</p>
<p>‘It might help, my lady, if you feed him,’ Margaret says. ‘I’ll have those letters written for you and the chaplain made ready to baptise him.’</p>
<p>It does help. As soon as Humphrey is latched on, Mary feels like she can breathe again. He was so noisy in his demands and now he’s suckling hungrily, his eyes half-shut. He feels more real, more like his brothers – something so noisy and hungry can’t possibly be in grim danger. She strokes the back of his bald head gently, wonders what colour his hair will be when it grows. Whether he will be dark like her, Harry and John or blond like Thomas or ginger like Henry.</p>
<p>‘The boys,’ she says to Margaret, ‘can see him after he’s baptised.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary hears the boys well before she sees them, their breathless questions and comments that Joanne and Jane answering as best they can. Mary pushes herself up in the bed, smiling her thanks as Amy adds more pillows to help prop her up before opening the door.</p>
<p>‘Remember,’ Joanne is saying, ‘you have to be quiet – use your inside voice, Thomas. Your mama’s very tired and the baby’s probably sleeping so—’</p>
<p>‘Mama!’ Harry gasps and pulls free of Joanne’s restraining hand to run in, Thomas right behind him.</p>
<p>‘Boys,’ Joanne hisses. ‘Boys!’</p>
<p>Harry stops short, Thomas slams into his back and they nearly both topple over. Mary giggles and holds her arms out to them. They scramble over, pulling themselves up on the bed and Mary hugs them close and kisses their faces, reaching out to take John from Jane’s arms and snuggle him close. She’s missed them so much.</p>
<p>‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘We won’t be going into the courtyard today, loves. You’ll have to go without me.’</p>
<p>‘We did!’ Thomas says, snuggling into her side. ‘I saw a frog!’</p>
<p>‘Oh, did you?’ Mary says, tugging gently on his curls. ‘Did he say ribbit?’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Thomas says. ‘I picked him up and he hop! Into the pond.’</p>
<p>‘I hope you were gentle with him,’ Mary says and kisses him.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Harry says reproachfully. ‘Where’s the baby?’</p>
<p>‘Ah,’ Mary says. ‘I have some news. You don’t have a sister after all – you have another little brother. His name’s Humphrey, like your cousin.’</p>
<p>She can’t help but giggle when John frowns severely at her.</p>
<p>‘Can we swap him?’ Thomas says. ‘And get sister? Now?’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says. ‘Would you like to meet him?’</p>
<p>John shakes his head, Thomas shrugs and Harry nods very seriously and pushes himself up on his knees, trying to see Humphrey. Mary calls Margaret over and takes Humphrey in her arms. His eyes slit open to regard her sleepily. She kisses his little nose, sees his mouth opens wide in a yawn.</p>
<p>‘This is Humphrey,’ she tells them. ‘And Humphrey, these are your brothers – Harry, Thomas, and John.’</p>
<p>‘Ugly,’ Thomas declares.</p>
<p>Mary rolls her eyes fondly. ‘You know you shouldn’t be mean to any of your brothers, especially since not one of you can help the way you look.’</p>
<p>She drops a kiss down on John’s hair, watching as he studies Humphrey. He reaches out and pokes Humphrey right in the middle of his chubby cheek. Humphrey’s eyes jerk open and he lets out a protesting cry. John blinks furiously.</p>
<p>‘Gentle, love,’ Mary says. ‘He’s very, very small and the world is very big to him right now.’ Mary takes John’s hand and gently strokes it along Humphrey’s bald head. ‘Like that, see? Like you’re petting a puppy.’</p>
<p>Harry pushes Thomas out of the way to lean in and kiss Humphrey’s cheek. ‘Brother Humphrey,’ he says, proudly, and Humphrey’s eyes slide over to him.</p>
<p>‘Do you want to hold him?’</p>
<p>Mary grins at the look on Harry’s face, that utterly joyous smile Maman and Henry tell her is just like hers. Joanne lays a pillow in Harry and Thomas’s laps, shows them how to hold out their arms. Then Mary carefully lays Humphrey in their arms, watches Thomas’s face turn still with protectiveness and Harry lean in to kiss Humphrey again.</p>
<p>‘You’ll look after him, won’t you?’ Mary says. ‘He’s not been very well.’</p>
<p>‘Of course, Mama,’ Harry says.</p>
<p><em>Not very well, </em>as if that were a way to describe a baby who came out of the womb unbreathing. She shudders and then smiles down at John, cuddling him close and kissing his cheeks and nose.</p>
<p>‘I’ve missed you,’ she says. ‘Did you see Thomas’s frog?’ He shakes his head. ‘Any ducks?’</p>
<p>‘Yes!’ he says, grinning up at her.</p>
<p>‘Anything else?’</p>
<p>‘Puppy!’</p>
<p>Given John’s penchant for calling most furry things puppy, she can only hope it <em>was </em>a puppy and not another rat.</p>
<p>‘Will we hold Humphrey together now?’ she says.</p>
<p>‘No,’ John says, giving her a somewhat panicked look.</p>
<p>‘No?’ Mary says. ‘Later then?’</p>
<p>John doesn’t seem convinced but she lets it be. He needs time to adjust to no longer being the youngest and to having Humphrey there and real, and they have time. She hugs John tightly and kisses his cheek.</p>
<p>‘I love you,’ she says. ‘So much.’</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ Thomas says. ‘Why’s he got no hair?’</p>
<p>‘I don’t know. Some babies don’t,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>‘Why?’</p>
<p>Mary reaches out to tug at Thomas’s curls. ‘Because all babies were different.’</p>
<p>‘Did I have hair?’</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Mary says. ‘Though it was very fair and wispy so it almost looked like you didn’t have any at all. John and Harry were like that as well.’</p>
<p>‘But,’ Harry says, looking very worried, ‘Humphrey will get some hair, won’t he?’</p>
<p>Mary laughs and cups Harry’s cheek. ‘Of course, he will! He just needs a bit of time to grow it.’</p>
<p>This seems to satisfy them for the moment so she has Margaret take Humphrey from Harry and Thomas long enough that they can come and cuddle into her side before Humphrey is placed back on to her chest. John seems disconcerted by his younger brother’s new presence but, as Mary snuggles all four of her boys close, she sees him reach out and run his finger gently down Humphrey’s leg.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hereford, December 1390</strong>
</p>
<p>Mary smiles as Harry holds Humphrey’s buckle just out of reach, watching as Humphrey swings his arms to grab it. He only just misses and launches another attempt, lurching forward. It’s hard to believe just quickly he’s grown in the last eleven weeks and impossible to believe that she watched him like a hawk for the first month of his life in case his health suddenly declined. He even took well enough to the journey from Kenilworth – he spent most of the time investigating the folds of Margaret’s veils or sucking on his buckle.</p>
<p>They’re sitting snuggly in the nursery at Hereford where they’ve come to spend Christmas with Lancaster like last year. The only difference is that Henry is not with them. She misses him dreadfully. She had a letter from him at the beginning of the month – his response to her letter about Humphrey’s birth – and the words were so stiff and formal that she has no idea what to make of them because they were not <em>him, </em>they were not his smile when he looks at their children or his arms around her.</p>
<p>Humphrey gives a triumphant little shout, his buckle clasped firmly in his fist before he shoves it in his mouth. Mary glances down at John, seated on her lap with a rather surly expression on his face, and she drops a kiss onto the top of his dark head. He jerks around, staring up at her, and breaks into a giggle.</p>
<p>‘Love you,’ she says and then is distracted by Thomas tugging on her arm.</p>
<p>‘Mama, go outside?’ Thomas asks. ‘Fight snow?’</p>
<p>She <em>really </em>regrets introducing him to the concept of a snow fight, he’s taken to it far too eagerly and she should have known he would. She sighs and cups the back of his head.</p>
<p>‘Is it still snowing?’</p>
<p>‘No?’</p>
<p>‘Go and check, love,’ she says. ‘And we’ll see.’</p>
<p>Thomas scampers over to the window and she follows, carrying John. She giggles as John presses his face against the glass before pulling away with a disgusted noise and scrubbing at his cheeks.</p>
<p>‘Too cold?’ Mary says and kisses him.</p>
<p>It has stopped snowing and the sun is out, illuminating the white grounds and snow-dusted gardens. She glances down at Thomas who looks pleadingly up at her and nods.</p>
<p>‘Alright,’ she says. ‘<em>But</em> – you need to be rugged up warmly and <em>stay </em>that way warmly. No pulling off your hose. And Humphrey needs to go for his nap.’</p>
<p>‘Can we bring him back snow, Mama?’ Harry asks. ‘So he can see?’</p>
<p>Mary laughs, hugging John to her. It’ll be a mess, she knows, and Humphrey will probably not appreciate it but it’s such a sweet, beautiful thought that she may even allow it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Harry and Thomas scream as they chuck handfuls of snow at each other and run about, Joanne and Jane supervising at a safe distance. Mary watches them for a moment, John in her arms, and feels a little grateful that John is too small and young for such games yet. But one day, she supposes, all four of her boys will be big enough to chase each other about and pelt snow around.</p>
<p>She kisses John and sets him down. He dives face-first into the snow and then makes another disgusted noise, sitting up and shaking himself. She bends down and kisses him again.</p>
<p>‘Cold, isn’t it?’</p>
<p>He nods furiously and raises his arms beseechingly towards her. She sighs and plucks him up, snuggling him close. He is, perhaps, the fussiest of her boys, always particular about his food and clothes so perhaps the snow is a bit too odd for his liking. She walks with him a little, showing him the icicles hanging from the bare branches and how the pond has frozen over. Harry and Thomas’s screams abruptly go silent and she turns back, expecting them to be pink-faced and exhausted. But they’re just standing stock-still, a lump of snow falling from Harry’s hand.</p>
<p>‘Oh no,’ Thomas says, very clearly and loudly. ‘Grandfather.’</p>
<p>And then he and Harry are racing towards her, diving behind her and clinging to her skirts, as the Duke of Lancaster walks across the grounds, stiff and stern-looking. Mary takes a breath, bracing herself. It’s too late to send the boys back inside and she can only hope Lancaster didn’t hear Thomas to take offence.</p>
<p>‘<em>Mama,</em>’ Harry whispers.</p>
<p>‘It’ll be fine,’ she says and feels Harry and Thomas both press against her legs. ‘Just stay close, alright? And – bow when I curtesy.’</p>
<p>And then Lancaster is there and she curtseys, holding John to her, and wondering what, exactly, Lancaster wants. He’s already seen the boys since they came here. Harry and Thomas were stiff with fear, John asleep in Jane’s arms and Humphrey engrossed in the emeralds of Mary’s necklace.</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Lancaster says. ‘I was about to send for you—’</p>
<p>He cuts off as John strains towards him, arms out as if he wants <em>Lancaster </em>to carry him. Lancaster looks discomfited but obviously feels as if it would be impolite to refuse such an entreaty, lifting John into his arms and settling him on his hip. John beams at Mary, pleased. Mary can only smile at him and wonder why, out of all her sons, it’s the fussiest who <em>likes </em>Lancaster. She reaches down and takes hold of Harry’s and Thomas’s hands.</p>
<p>‘As I was saying,’ Lancaster says, ‘I was about to send for you so we could talk but I saw you and the children outside and thought it best to go out and be done with it.’</p>
<p>Mary wonders if he can hear the way he speaks. <em>Be done with it. </em>As if speaking to his son’s wife is a burden. Perhaps it is for him and she should be more understanding. She smiles and bows her head.</p>
<p>‘Of course, your grace,’ she says.</p>
<p>He shifts John a little, patting his back and brings out a letter, the wax marked with the queen’s seal, holding it out towards Mary. Mary swallows.</p>
<p>‘Summons, for you to attend the queen in January,’ he says.</p>
<p>‘I can’t,’ Mary says, mouth dry. Harry presses his head against her and stares up at her. ‘The boys – we should be at Kenilworth.’</p>
<p>Lancaster raises a brow. ‘We have talked about this before, Mary.’</p>
<p>‘I know,’ Mary says. ‘But Humphrey’s so young and—’</p>
<p>‘I really don’t know why you’re acting like a silly girl,’ Lancaster says and she goes cold. ‘The queen is fond of you. If you rebuild your friendship with her, it can only benefit your husband.’</p>
<p>She can’t say anything. It’s as if one of the icicles she had been shown John has somehow fallen down the back of her shift and laced itself against her spine. Her lips feel numb. <em>Silly girl. </em>Why did he let her marry his heir if that’s what he thinks she is?</p>
<p>‘Mama?’ Harry whispers, pulling at her skirts.</p>
<p>She lets go of Harry’s hand so she can caress his hair and hug him to her. ‘I <em>can’t</em>,’ she says. ‘The boys are already missing their father, I can’t leave them.’</p>
<p>Lancaster lets his head fall back, staring up at the bleak sky. He mutters something, probably a prayer for patience for dealing with a <em>silly girl.</em></p>
<p>‘Really, Mary, they’ll have to do without you one day. Why not start now?’ he says and then sighs when she doesn’t respond. ‘Take them with you then.’</p>
<p>‘It might upset the queen,’ Mary says. ‘A reminder of what she doesn’t have but—’</p>
<p>‘Stop,’ Lancaster says. ‘I don’t want to discuss women’s business. She made a point to ask after your children so clearly she wouldn’t mind seeing them. Take the summons and go.’</p>
<p>She reaches out and takes the letter, running her finger across the wax seal. ‘It will never be as it was.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Lancaster says and he seems so much older. ‘No. Too many people died.’</p>
<p>‘I didn’t think she’d want to see me,’ Mary says. ‘Given that.’</p>
<p>‘But she does,’ Lancaster says. ‘And she’ll want to see your boys. Especially this one.’</p>
<p>He nods at John and tousles his hair. ‘So go.’</p>
<p>‘I will,’ Mary says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Sheen, January 1391</strong>
</p>
<p>Mary is outside Anne’s solar, waiting to be received. She thinks longingly of her boys in the nursery above, Harry and Thomas playing with their tin soldiers and John and Humphrey napping. She feels distinctly uncomfortable, unused to the levels of finery she’s wearing. She keeps smoothing down the front of her best gown, embroidered with blue and gold harebells and lined with miniver, or tugging at its long sleeves. She rolls her rings around her fingers, frowning at the ruby, and then raises a hand to check that her hair is still neatly bound in the crispinette and the jewelled fillet and veils are still in place.</p>
<p>Foolishness. She checks her rings are facing outwards and then clasps her hands in front of her, telling herself to be still. Lancaster said the queen wanted to see her. The queen is not a cruel woman, she would not summon Mary here only to humiliate her.</p>
<p>Mary finds herself murmuring an Ave under her breath. She feels as though she is a farmer’s wife, except less useful. She feels uncomfortable her finery – she dresses well at home but never like this. There’s no point when the only people to see her are her household and the boys are prone to make such messes. She hears Lancaster’s voice in her ear again, calling her <em>a silly girl</em> and bites her lip.</p>
<p>This was a mistake. She shouldn’t be here. She should be in Kenilworth with her children.</p>
<p>The door cracks open and a squire peers through.</p>
<p>‘My lady,’ he says, ‘the queen will see you now.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary takes in the queen’s solar in a glance before she sinks into a curtsy. The walls are lined with bright tapestries and fires burn warmly in the grates. The windows are filled with stained glass that, caught in the weak winter sun, throw colour everywhere even onto the faces of Anne’s splendidly dressed women. Mary notices one is missing: Agnes Launcekrona who fled into exile with the Earl of Oxford.</p>
<p>‘Oh, Mary,’ the queen says and then she’s rushing towards Mary, taking her hands and tugging her to her feet.</p>
<p>Anne has hardly changed since Mary saw her last, not long after Thomas was born. She is short and plump, dressed impeccably in red velvet, and she’s smiling at Mary as if Mary isn’t married to one of the Lords Appellant who did such harm to Richard.</p>
<p>‘I’m so glad you came,’ Anne says, tucking her arm into Mary’s and leading her towards the settle. ‘I always miss seeing you, you spend so much time in the country! How is it there?’</p>
<p>‘Oh, the same as ever,’ Mary says and curses herself for sounding so dull. ‘It’s quiet and peaceful, the air is so fresh and sweet. And the boys love it, of course.’</p>
<p>She studies her lap. She promised herself she wouldn’t bring up her children, not wanting to hurt Anne by mentioning what Anne doesn’t – and perhaps <em>can’t </em>– have. Anne reaches out and touches a finger to Mary’s wrist.</p>
<p>‘And you are well? I heard you delivered of a fourth son not too long ago,’ she says.</p>
<p>‘Oh, it was months ago now,’ Mary says. ‘I’m fine, I always recover well.’</p>
<p>She remembers Humphrey, blue and silent in the midwife’s arms and pushes back a shudder. He’s fine. <em>He’s fine. </em>They’re all fine. Anne is silent next to her for a moment and all Mary can hear are her ladies stitching, their needles weaving in and out of cloth.</p>
<p>‘Well,’ Anne says. ‘If it were spring, we would go out into the gardens but it is too cold. Do your boys like the snow?’</p>
<p>Mary swallows and nods. ‘Harry and Thomas love to play in it. We build castles in the snow or they have a snow fight. John thought he’d love it and dived face-first into the first lot of snow he saw only to be thoroughly disgusted by how cold it is.’</p>
<p>Anne laughs and Mary’s cheeks fill with heat. All she can do is babble about her children. Anne is kind and generous but in the corner of her head, she must be wondering why she invited Mary here when Mary is such a simple-minded fool with no head for politics or theology or anything but her children’s antics.</p>
<p>‘They must bring you such joy,’ Anne says.</p>
<p>‘They do,’ Mary says and glances at Anne’s face, cast in wistful sadness. ‘I’m sorry, your grace, we don’t have to talk about them.’</p>
<p>‘No, no,’ Anne says. ‘I want to hear everything about them. It must be such a wonderful thing to see them grow.’</p>
<p>‘It is,’ Mary says, smiling. ‘It’s so hard to believe that Harry was once as small as Humphrey was – smaller even, he was <em>tiny. </em>But so sweet, even then. And he’s turned into such a good brother.’</p>
<p>She bites her lip.</p>
<p>‘I pray for you daily, your grace,’ she whispers, ‘in hope that God will grant you the same happiness I have.’</p>
<p>Anne gazes at Mary for a long moment, her face soft with wonder, and then she smiles and leans in to kiss Mary’s cheek.</p>
<p>‘You are a very kind woman,’ she says. ‘Now, I have a question for you – you are one of the most pious women I know – you once considered joining a convent, I believe?’</p>
<p>‘When I was nine,’ Mary says. ‘Gloucester thought it would be good for me.’</p>
<p>‘You weren’t so sure?’</p>
<p>‘No, never,’ Mary says, ‘not until they put Harry in my arms. I mean, I love my husband but I always wondered if I had erred, in marrying him instead of joining the convent. And then.’</p>
<p>She looks down at her lap, feeling tears burn in her eyes and feels Anne’s hand land in her shoulders.</p>
<p>‘And then Harry,’ Anne says.</p>
<p>‘He was so small and perfect,’ Mary says and wipes at her eyes. ‘And I thought – something this beautiful couldn’t be the result of an error or a sin. They said he might not live and I thought, <em>I don’t care. </em>Resolved to love him even if he were lost so that – so that whatever happened, he’d know he’d been loved so much. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m being silly.’</p>
<p>She dabs at her eyes with the handkerchief Anne presses into her hand and sniffs.</p>
<p>‘It’s not silly,’ Anne says gently. ‘I can’t imagine how afraid you would’ve been. But he is a strong and fine boy now.’</p>
<p>Mary nods and smiles, even if it feels watery. ‘He is. I am very lucky, I know.’</p>
<p>She thinks of Humphrey’s birth again and shudders. Anne’s arm squeezes her and Mary remembers that she shouldn’t speak so, not in front of Anne who is so unlucky.</p>
<p>‘I don’t suppose he will remember me,’ Anne says. ‘He was only just beginning to say more than a few words when I saw him last.’</p>
<p>‘No, but I’ve told them about you, how good you were to me.’ Mary takes a breath, dabs at her eyes again. ‘Sorry. I don’t think you wanted to hear that story. You had a question?’</p>
<p>‘I do,’ Anne says, ‘but it can wait. I think I would rather see your boys first.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary manages to settle herself by the time her sons are brought into the solar. They’re all wide-eyed and shy, except for Humphrey who is happily suckling on his buckle. Mary stands up and goes to them, cupping Harry’s chin and hugging John to her side.</p>
<p>‘<em>Mama,</em>’ Thomas whispers. ‘You’re so shiny.’</p>
<p>Mary giggles and presses a kiss to his forehead. He hasn’t seen her wear this type of clothing since he was around Humphrey’s age.</p>
<p>‘Thank you, love,’ she says. ‘This is Queen Anne’s room. Remember she invited us to come and stay? She’s a lovely lady who’d like to meet you very much.’</p>
<p>Harry frowns. ‘She gave me the ball?’</p>
<p>‘Yes! And the puppets.’</p>
<p>‘I like her.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles and kisses him as well. ‘Good. And remember to bow to her, she is the queen.’</p>
<p>She leads them over to Anne, Margaret following with Humphrey in her arms, and smiles as her boys bow to Anne. It’s a clumsy effort; John ends up toppling onto his bottom while Harry glances back at Mary for reassurance. She smiles at him as she helps John to his feet again.</p>
<p>‘They are such darlings, aren’t they?’ Anne says. She leans towards Harry. ‘You’ve gotten so big and handsome! You’re going to be so tall and tower over your mother, aren’t you?’</p>
<p>Harry cranes his neck up to look at Mary, his expression rather dubious. She beams down at him.</p>
<p>‘No?’ he says and clings to her leg. ‘Don’t want to.’</p>
<p>Anne laughs. ‘Poor thing can’t imagine it,’ she says. ‘Do you think you’ll be taller than me, though? I think you will.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe,’ Harry says.</p>
<p>Anne turns to Thomas. ‘And you! You were just a little baby when I saw you last. And now look at you.’</p>
<p>Thomas breaks into a cheeky grin. ‘You gave Harry ball.’</p>
<p>‘I did!’</p>
<p>‘Where’s mine?’</p>
<p>‘<em>Thomas</em>,’ Mary mutters as Anne giggles.</p>
<p>‘Oh, I’ll have to rectify that, won’t I?’ Anne says. ‘Iva, do you have the gifts for the young lords?’</p>
<p>Mary starts, watching as one of Anne’s ladies rise from her embroidery, leaving the room. She should’ve expected this generosity from Anne – she gave Harry and Thomas so many presents when they last saw her.</p>
<p>‘Thank you,’ she says and hears Harry echo it beside her.</p>
<p>‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ Anne says. ‘They’re such a delight, aren’t they? Come, you haven’t introduced me to the other two.’</p>
<p>Mary lifts John and places him on the settle beside Anne, dropping a kiss onto his surprised face.</p>
<p>‘This is John,’ Mary says. ‘He was born about eighteen months ago and—’</p>
<p>‘And is an absolute darling,’ Anne says and leans in to take John’s hands in hers and rub her rather large nose against John’s rather large nose. Mary bites back a smile.</p>
<p>‘Yes,’ John says which makes them all laugh.</p>
<p>Anne kisses his cheek and he glows. Then her eyes light on Margaret, carrying Humphrey.</p>
<p>‘And this is—’</p>
<p>‘Humphrey, who we’ve only had for three months,’ Mary says, gesturing Margaret closer.</p>
<p>‘Plus the nine you carried him,’ Anne says, her smile turning somewhat wistful.</p>
<p>Mary bites her tongue and wonders if she should offer her sympathies again. She feels it between them, sometimes, this sadness that Mary has been so lucky and blessed with children – <em>four sons</em> – and Anne and Richard can’t seem to have one at all. Mary knows what the gossip is but she doesn’t credit it. God wouldn’t punish someone as kind as Anne. It seems better to let it go unsaid rather than draw attention to the sadness.</p>
<p>‘I thought he was going to be a girl!’</p>
<p>But it isn’t fair, Anne – and Richard, too – was so good with Hal when they saw him.</p>
<p>‘Well,’ Anne says. ‘I’d say you’re more than overdue for a daughter.’</p>
<p>‘Mama wouldn’t let us swap,’ Thomas says. ‘I wanted to. Mama said <em>no.</em>’</p>
<p>‘Did she?’ Anne says. ‘Well, that’s good news for Humphrey then. Do you like your newest brother?’</p>
<p>‘Yes!’ Harry says.</p>
<p>‘No,’ John says and Mary rolls her eyes, tousling his hair.</p>
<p>‘He’s alright,’ Thomas says. ‘Bit lumpy.’</p>
<p>‘<em>Lumpy?</em>’ Anne says, making her eyes go wide. ‘Oh, not lumpy – I must make sure of this. May I, Mary?’</p>
<p>She holds her arms out towards Margaret and Mary nods, smiling as Humphrey is placed into Anne’s arms and cradled close. But Mary doesn’t miss the way John’s face falls, upset at losing Anne’s attention, and she lifts him up into her arms and kisses his unhappy face.</p>
<p>‘Love you,’ she whispers and his delight transforms him.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Harry, Thomas, and John are delighted by their presents and insist on showing Anne their other toys. Anne is easily convinced so they end up moving up to the room that currently serves as the boys’ nursery. Harry and Thomas take Anne’s hand and tug her around to show her their blocks, balls, puppets, tin knights and more. Mary unwraps Humphrey from his swaddling and puts him on his tummy, tracing her fingers down his spine. He lifts his chest and head up and turns his head slowly, searching for his brothers. He giggles when he finds them and then it’s too much and he drops down onto his tummy again.</p>
<p>Mary smiles, running her finger down the curve of his sturdy little back and he rolls onto his back, gurgling happily. She kisses his cheek and catches his hands with her own, smiling at him.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ John says sulkily.</p>
<p>‘Oh sweet-thing,’ she says and hugs him close with one arm. ‘What’s the matter?’</p>
<p>He frowns at her and she kisses his cheek. Humphrey makes a quiet <em>ah </em>and kicks his legs out, straining towards John before getting distracted by the shape of his hands and trying to eat them. Mary rests her cheek against John’s head, holding him close – she supposes he’s feeling his age – unable to keep up with Harry and Thomas and too small to be the baby that’s being fussed over.</p>
<p>‘Why don’t you show Anne some of your favourite toys, hmm?’ she says. ‘I’m sure she’ll love to see them.’</p>
<p>John’s frown deepens before his face smooths out and he trots off. Mary gathers Humphrey to her, feeling him squirm and then settle with a nuzzle against her neck. His hair’s beginning to grow and it’s dark like her own.</p>
<p>‘Let’s see what John’s going to show Anne,’ she says. ‘Your brothers are all so wonderful, aren’t they?’ He coos and gurgles. ‘Just like you.’</p>
<p>John’s favourite toy, apparently, is the wooden duck on wheels that he drags around with on a string – a present he received after Humphrey’s birth from Eleanor. He drags it over to Anne, taps her on the leg.</p>
<p>‘<em>Fuck!</em>’ he says.</p>
<p>‘I beg your pardon?’ Anne says, spinning around and cupping his cheek.</p>
<p>He points at his duck. ‘Fuck!’</p>
<p>Anne’s lips tremble with the effort of keeping her giggles in and her eyes dart to Mary and then back at John.</p>
<p>‘That’s a very lovely duck,’ she says with great effort, ‘have you named her yet?’</p>
<p>John frowns, looking at his duck.</p>
<p>‘Fuck!’ John proclaims again.</p>
<p>That’s all it takes for Mary and Anne to collapse into giggles. Mary bounces Humphrey in her arms, watching his face split open in a grin.</p>
<p>‘He hasn’t quite mastered the pronunciation,’ she says.</p>
<p>John nods quite seriously. ‘Fuck.’</p>
<p>‘Indeed,’ Anne says, clucking John under the chin. ‘But it is a rather wonderful duck.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Mary and Anne leave the nursery when it’s time for the boys to have their naps and Anne takes Mary not back to her solar, but her room and they sit tucked up in the bed, half-hidden behind curtains embroidered with imperial eagles ringed in rosemary. Anne’s women move around, like great fluttering butterflies in their Bohemian headdresses with scarves shot with gold and silver thread. There are wine, pastries and sweet-meats and Mary watches Anne nervously, wondering what she wants to ask.</p>
<p>If it is something to do with Henry or the crisis, Mary doesn’t know what she can say. She must be a good wife, loyal to her husband, even if she doesn’t always like or agree with his actions. But she must also be a good subject – she can’t risk offending Anne and having Lancaster lecture her for failing to bridge the divide between Henry and Richard.</p>
<p>‘Don’t you like the wine?’ Anne asks. ‘I can have another type brought…’</p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Mary says. ‘I haven’t tried it yet.’</p>
<p>Mary raises her cup to her lips and takes her first sip. The cup’s warm in her hand and the wine has been mulled with spices – she thinks she can taste cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves amongst the tartness of orange and the sweetness of honey.</p>
<p>‘It’s lovely,’ she says and takes another sip. ‘Sorry. I was – thinking. But this is beautiful – perfect on a day like today.’</p>
<p>Anne nods and wraps both hands around her cup and lifts it to her face, the steam making her face turn pink. After a few sips, she puts the cup on the table by the bed and takes up a candied cherry, biting it in half and depositing the seed into a napkin.</p>
<p>‘Now,’ she says. ‘My question! You shouldn’t be too alarmed – I wanted to ask you before I shock any archbishops. I thought you are a good, pious woman who was almost a nun.’</p>
<p>Mary nods. Anne sounds nervous so she tries her best to look calm and untroubled by the conversation though she wonders why, exactly, Anne’s worrying about <em>shocking </em>an archbishop. It doesn’t sound like her at all.</p>
<p>‘Thank you,’ Mary says, frowning a little puzzled frown. ‘But I’m sure – you are a good, pious woman yourself. I’m sure you don’t need my advice.’</p>
<p>Anne smiles, her lips curving before anxiety pushes them straight and flat again. ‘Well. I want to improve my English – I think it is an important thing, you see, that I can understand all my subjects much better than I do.’</p>
<p>Mary nods. Anne has mastered far more languages than Mary could ever hope to know even a little of but English remains a difficulty. Of course, she hardly <em>needs </em>it – the court speaks French all of the time. But it’s an honourable concern to have and shows Anne’s goodness. Mary tells her this.</p>
<p>‘Still,’ Anne says, ‘I would like to better understand. It can be difficult when you can’t follow a conversation…’</p>
<p>Mary nods. ‘Of course.’</p>
<p>‘I thought,’ Anne says, ‘that if I had the Gospels in English it would help. Since I know the texts so well already, reading them in English could only help my understanding, do you see? Or does it sound too much like – heresy?’</p>
<p>Mary blinks and takes a sip of wine to give herself time to think. She doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. If Anne means to ask both archbishops, she will be asking Mary’s uncle, the Archbishop of York, and he is a sharp man, given to cruelty and he could tell the Earl of Arundel and make trouble for Anne.</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Anne says, ‘I would seek dispensation and ensure my copies are met with approval.’</p>
<p>Mary nods and takes another sip of wine. ‘I don’t think it’s a sin,’ she says slowly, ‘to wish to read the Word of God in any language. I don’t. I think it is beautiful, to be able to read the Gospels for yourself and meditate on them. How could that be a sin?’</p>
<p>She raises her head to look Anne in the eye and Anne smiles.</p>
<p>‘Exactly,’ Anne says.</p>
<p>‘But,’ Mary says. ‘Speak to Canterbury before York.’</p>
<p>‘You don’t think your uncle will approve but William Courtenay will?’</p>
<p>Mary shrugs and reaches for a cherry. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘But Courtenay isn’t – well. He’s not likely to talk about to anyone but you.’</p>
<p>Her uncles have always been more loyal to themselves and each other than to God or their king. William Courtenay, instead, is one of the most upright people she knows – his loyalty is first and foremost to God and then to righteousness. Mary doesn’t think she would ever be brave enough to speak to him herself – she is too afraid he would disapprove of something she did or wore, though he always seems above the petty complaints about fashion.</p>
<p>‘And,’ Anne says, ‘if Courtenay approves, I can ask York to make sure <em>he </em>approves.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>‘Mary,’ Anne says when the jug of wine is half-empty. ‘Why – forgive me, but why did you stay away?’</p>
<p>Mary stares down at the dregs in her cup, feels shame well up inside of her. She’s hurt Anne, she knows, by avoiding the court and Anne has been so good to her and her boys.</p>
<p>‘Was it something I or we…’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says quickly. ‘It wasn’t you. I felt – ashamed. You’ve been so good, a true friend, and then <em>Henry </em>– and not just him, but my sister’s husband and my uncle – they hurt you and your lord so badly. I thought you – you wouldn’t want to see me. That you must hate me.’</p>
<p>‘Oh, Mary,’ Anne says. ‘Who could hate you?’</p>
<p>Mary shrugs. ‘I am sorry,’ she says, ‘for what was done to you and the king – I don’t pretend to know if it was done for the right reasons but even so, it was a cruelty and griefs you should not have had to bear. And I am sorry if my absence made you feel I loved you less.’</p>
<p>‘I forgive you,’ Anne says simply before reaching out to hug Mary to her.</p>
<p>There’s a creak as the door opens and Mary glances up to see the king, Harry – <em>Harry </em>– in his arms and she begins to scramble away from Anne, her feet tangling in the blankets so she can get out of the bed and curtsy as she properly should. But Anne takes hold of her arm and squeezes as Harry calls out <em>Mama. </em></p>
<p>‘Oh don’t worry about that,’ the king says breezily. ‘I surprised you, after all.’</p>
<p>Mary doesn’t know what to say to that but she inclines her head and worries frantically. What is Harry <em>doing </em>with Richard? She sneaks a glance at him and he seems wholly content – and much more relaxed than he’s been with Henry of late. She doesn’t think either Richard or Anne would have him harmed to prove a point but still, <em>why? </em>And what if Richard hates <em>her</em> for hurting Anne? He’s fiercely devoted to Anne, no matter what’s been said about his familiarity with Robert de Vere.</p>
<p>‘I found this one wandering around looking for his mother,’ Richard says. ‘And there was no need to try and find out who that was; he looks too much like you, my lady of Derby, to belong to anyone else.’</p>
<p>He deposits Harry into Mary’s arms and bends to kiss Mary’s cheek, the brush of his hair like cool silk against her cheek. Mary hugs Harry close, feeling him nestle into her, and feels her anxiety begin to lessen. Her son is in her arms and the king doesn’t seem upset with her.</p>
<p>‘We put him and his brothers down for a nap not an hour ago,’ Anne says.</p>
<p>‘He’s getting rather rebellious about naps, aren’t you?’ Mary says and kisses his cheek. ‘But love, we’re in a strange place, you can’t just go wondering – you might get lost.’</p>
<p>Harry pouts at her, snuggling in. ‘Wanted you,’ he says.</p>
<p>Which is very sweet but not the point.</p>
<p>‘Then you ask Joanna to fetch me,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>‘She was busy,’ he says.</p>
<p>She sighs. He probably means she was sewing the hose Thomas ripped yesterday. She reaches for a cherry, biting it in half to remove the pip and offering half to Harry. He gobbles it up and reaches for the second half. Anne laughs, delighted.</p>
<p>‘Where did you find him?’ Mary asks Richard.</p>
<p>‘Anne’s solar,’ he says, ‘staring around with huge eyes, looking about to cry. And then once he saw me, he just went, <em>where’s Mama </em>and so we decided to go in search for you.’</p>
<p>‘Not for me?’ Anne asks in a display of mock pique.</p>
<p>‘Well, I was already searching for you,’ Richard says and smiles so lovingly at Anne that Mary buries her face in Harry’s hair.</p>
<p>Richard actually gets in the bed with them, which makes Mary go stiff and awkward. Even though she knows nothing is going to happen – they’re all clothed, Anne is between Mary and Richard, Anne’s women are still in attendance and there are certainly no rumours of Richard taking another woman as a lover. But Mary’s never been in bed with a man that’s not Henry. She kisses Harry’s cheeks, watches him strain towards the bowl of cherries. For all this is seemly and proper, she doesn’t think she’ll mention she was in bed with the king to Henry. Or to Lancaster, for that matter.</p>
<p>Richard laughs and takes one out, splitting it in half with his fingers to remove the pit before offering it to Harry, who promptly devours it and asks – politely – for another. Richard only laughs and hands him another.</p>
<p>‘Are you hungry?’</p>
<p>‘Lots!’ Harry says.</p>
<p>He smiles with red-stained lips and teeth and Anne darts in to wipe his sticky hands and faces. Richard, however, takes one of the pastries and tears it into quarters, giving Harry one quarter. Mary smiles at them, feeling a sad ache in her heart. They’re so attentive in their fussing over Harry and he’s so comfortable with them. Even once he’s filled his belly and become drowsy, curling up with his head on Mary’s lap and feet on Anne’s, he just seems relaxed and at ease, even going so far to playfully swat at Richard’s teasing finger before he yawns, settling down for a nap. Mary sees the quiet grief on their faces, and looks down at Harry, his sleepy eyes seeking her out one last time and smiling when she kisses his brow.</p>
<p>They would make such excellent parents if only they were so blessed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Lincoln, May 1391</strong>
</p>
<p>By the time they reach Lincoln to meet Henry – who she thinks is still at sea but could have just landed in Boston – Mary is beyond grateful this time she’s not pregnant on top of dealing with four boys who are all struggling to contain themselves. Harry is trying his best but is also undeniably and understandably nervous, Thomas is his usual riotous self, John has entered the phase where he has a short temper and liable to have a fit about anything that remotely disturbs his world, and Humphrey, at seven months, is beginning to find his voice. He spent most of the journey babbling away to her, his brothers and their nurses and only stopped to burst into tears when John yelled at him to be quiet.</p>
<p>If only she didn’t love them so much, Mary thinks, she could have spent the entire journey on her own palfrey and only travelled inside the carriage when she was beginning to feel sore or tired. Still. They’re here and Henry will be here soon.</p>
<p>Stepping out of the carriage, she takes Humphrey in her arms and kisses him. He really is a cheery little thing, as if he’s made up entirely of sanguine humour. He presses his cheek against hers and says <em>bah, bah um-ma.</em></p>
<p>‘Oh really?’ she says. ‘You’re going to see your papa for the very first time soon. He’s rather wonderful and he’ll be so surprised to see how big you are.’</p>
<p>John stomps out and hugs her leg. She drops a hand to the top of his head, musing up his hair.</p>
<p>‘You excited to see your papa, John?’</p>
<p>John nods, pressing his face against her shin, and Thomas yells out <em>yes </em>as he shoves past Harry to get out of the carriage.</p>
<p>‘Inside voice, love,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>Thomas frowns at her. ‘We’re outside.’</p>
<p>Mary giggles. ‘So we are love.’</p>
<p>She bounces Humphrey gently as Harry finally gets outside and takes John’s hand firmly.</p>
<p>‘Mama,’ he says. ‘Can – can we see Lady Katherine too?’</p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Mary says.</p>
<p>Humphrey squirms in her arms so he can peer down at Harry. She’s brought them here early to get the boys settled in before Henry gets here. Humphrey’s at the age when he gets scared if he’s meeting new people or in a new place and hopefully he’ll be settled and happy here before he meets Henry.</p>
<p>‘And,’ Mary says, ‘we can go and see the cathedral again.’</p>
<p>‘Will Anne be there?’ he says. Harry’s been asking after Anne a lot and she suspects if <em>Richard </em>was an easier name to say, he’d be asking after the king as well.</p>
<p>‘Anne,’ John says firmly.</p>
<p>‘No, loves,’ she says. ‘She’s not here. But we can write to her tonight if you’d like. Now, though—’</p>
<p>‘Mama,<em> no,</em>’ Thomas groans. ‘No baths!’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The air is warm and scented with apple blossom, the sky clear enough that Mary thinks she can see on forever and ever. But she doesn’t want to see forever: on the horizon she can see the bright colours of Henry’s banners, the sheen of polished armour burning bright. She smiles and turns to her ladies, beginning orders to prepare the welcome for Henry. The boys are to be dressed in their finery – except for little Humphrey, who is to be left in Margaret’s care to wait for a quieter moment to meet his father – as is Mary. The cooks are to start readying for the meal to be served to the Earl of Derby and his retinue, wine and ale is to be brought out to welcome them.</p>
<p>Mary’s hair is bound up in a net of pearls and her gown is bright, with popinjays embroidered onto green wool lined with pale-yellow silk – a reference to Henry’s promise to bring her home one. She thought, for about half of a moment, of having it embroidered with toads but she couldn’t bring herself to spend so much money on something she’d only wear once for a jest. Besides, it might encourage him to replace the one she’d gotten rid of.</p>
<p>Once dressed, she makes her way to the nursery and watches as Thomas tries to evade Jane’s attempts to shove him into his red demi-gown. She raises a brow.</p>
<p>‘Thomas,’ she says, ‘if you don’t get dressed, you’ll have to wait with Humphrey.’</p>
<p>Humphrey, sitting in Harry’s lap, squawks at the mention of his name and reaches out towards Mary. She plucks him up to kiss his fat cheeks. Harry, at least, is dressed and Joanne has just gotten John into his hose.</p>
<p>‘That’s right,’ Jane says to Thomas. ‘If you don’t get dressed, you’ll have to stay behind with the <em>baby.</em>’</p>
<p>‘No!’ Thomas gasps. ‘I’m big.’</p>
<p>From then on, he’s perfectly behaved and Mary hands Humphrey back to Margaret to crouch down and hug Thomas.</p>
<p>‘You’re my good boy,’ she says, ‘even if you need reminding of it from time to time. Now come on, let’s go meet your papa.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Henry swings down from his horse and Mary can’t stop smiling, her heart full almost to bursting. He looks so much the same – his clothes impeccable, his skin bronzed from the sun, and as solid as he’s ever been. She moves forward before even Thomas can tear free and Henry sweeps her up into an embrace, kissing her firmly. She hears Swynford whistle and her face burns even as Henry lifts her and spins her around, his cheeks red.</p>
<p>‘Four boys!’</p>
<p>‘I <em>know</em>,’ Mary says. ‘I had to check, I thought the midwife must have been confused—’</p>
<p>Mary stops, staring at the… creature one of Henry’s men is leading on a bridle. It’s like a deer but huge, taller than her. Behind it is a bull and three cages on wheels, containing <em>three bears. </em>She turns back to Henry, who’s still grinning at her.</p>
<p>‘Henry,’ she says, ‘what is all of <em>this</em>?’</p>
<p>‘That’s an elk,’ he says, ‘and they were gifts. Alongside some falcons. I sadly couldn’t get a popinjay for you, though.’</p>
<p>He touches her sleeve, his fingers brushing over the wings of one bright bird. She smiles and kisses his cheek.</p>
<p>‘Oh, well,’ she says. ‘I’ll survive. Please tell me, though—’</p>
<p>‘No toads,’ he says and grins at her. ‘I was good about that at least.’</p>
<p>‘The very best,’ she says. ‘Come, let’s see the boys.’</p>
<p>Henry’s grin widens and he slips past her to take in the sight of his boys – Jane with John on her hip, Joanne holding Harry and Thomas’s hands. Then he’s running, getting down on his knees to hug the two oldest close to him.</p>
<p>‘You’ve gotten so big!’ he says. ‘Look at you, Harry, you’re so tall and Thomas!’</p>
<p>He buries his nose in Thomas’s blond curls before reaching out for John. John looks at him a bit dubiously – he was so small when he saw Henry last.</p>
<p>‘John,’ Mary says gently. ‘This is your papa. He’s been away for a while but he’s come home to us.’</p>
<p>‘Papa,’ John repeats. His face screws up. ‘Papa hug?’</p>
<p>Henry laughs and takes John in his arms, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. He turns back to Mary. ‘Where’s the other one?’</p>
<p>‘In the nursery,’ she says. ‘He’s… shy with people he hasn’t met before so I thought – best not to overwhelm him.’</p>
<p>‘I’m not a stranger, though,’ he says, ‘I’m his father.’</p>
<p>Mary gives a small smile. ‘And he’ll still start crying when he sees you.’</p>
<p>‘Lots,’ John says. ‘He bad.’</p>
<p>‘No,’ Mary says tiredly – they’ve had this conversation a lot lately and it’s really beginning to grate. ‘It’s just that he’s small and the world is huge and terrifying and doesn’t know how to express that except by screaming.’</p>
<p>‘Come on,’ Henry says. ‘I’ve got some things to show you boys.’</p>
<p>He hands John to Mary and puts the older boys onto his shoulder, carrying them over to see the beasts he’s brought back. Mary follows with John, watching as the boys reach out to run their hands along the elk’s rough fur and stare in amazement at the bull.</p>
<p>‘Papa, what are they?’ Harry says, leaning over to point at the bears.</p>
<p>‘Can we pet them?’ Thomas wants to know.</p>
<p>‘No,’ Henry says. ‘They’re bears. Only young ones but they’ll grow up big and with huge, sharp claws.’</p>
<p>If he means to frighten them off, he fails miserably. Thomas looks impressed and even more determined than ever to pet them. Mary laughs and kisses John’s cheek, wondering what they’re going to do with them and how to keep their boys safely away from the bears.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Humphrey does burst into tears when he sees Henry for the first time and John does look rather pointedly up at Mary. She rushes forward and takes him from Margaret, letting him hide his face in her veils. It breaks her heart – he’s such a cheery baby normally – but she knows it’s just something that happens with babies, nothing she can really control.</p>
<p>‘It’s alright, it’s alright,’ she whispers. ‘It’s your papa, you know. It’s the first time he’s ever seen you and it’s scary, I know, but he loves you.’</p>
<p>Henry looks flummoxed, despite her warning, and he opens his mouth and then shuts it. Mary gives him a tiny grimace and sits down on the settle with Humphrey, feeling his tiny hands grasp the bodice of her dress. She gestures to show Henry he should sit down on the other end of the settle and he does, settling John on his lap.</p>
<p>‘Not scary,’ Harry says and clambers up on the settle beside Mary, petting Humphrey’s leg. ‘Papa.’</p>
<p>It’s a small thing that Harry’s saying but it’s such a relief to hear. She leans over and kisses Harry’s head.</p>
<p>‘Papa’s great,’ Thomas says. ‘He’s brave!’</p>
<p>‘See?’ Mary says. ‘Your brothers love your papa.’</p>
<p>Eventually, Humphrey does stop crying and he takes to sneaking glances at Henry as Mary and his brothers chatter at him as though nothing’s changed, everything’s normal. When Humphrey’s entirely relaxed and even smiling, Mary stands up and has the boys scoot down the settle so there’s room for her to sit down next to Henry.</p>
<p>‘Humphrey,’ she says, ‘Humphrey, love, this is your papa. He’s been waiting ever so long to meet you.’</p>
<p>Humphrey peers at Henry a little nervously, his hands tightening around the handful of Mary’s sleeve he’s grasping. But Henry only smiles at him and Humphrey’s grip gradually loosens.</p>
<p>‘It’s true,’ Henry says. ‘It’s been too long.’ He sighs and glances up at Mary. ‘I’m never leaving before you’ve given birth again. I don’t miss another one.’</p>
<p>Mary smiles and rests her cheek against his shoulder, feeling his hand stroke her cheek.</p>
<p>‘All I could think about was not knowing,’ he says. ‘And then, everything I was missing.’ He reaches out and runs his finger down Humphrey’s cheek. Humphrey stares at him. ‘I’ve missed so much of his life and he doesn’t even know me—’</p>
<p>There’s no point in worrying him with the story of Humphrey coming out blue and unbreathing, needed the life to be slapped into him. It would only upset Henry.</p>
<p>‘But we’re fine,’ Mary says. ‘The birth went well, I recovered quickly. And he will. He will know you. Just give it a little bit of time.’</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It’s getting late and Mary is tired – the excitement and heat of the day has slowly eroded away her energy. But still, she smiles at Henry when she sees him sitting in their bed, still in his shirt and hose, with Humphrey lying across his chest and dozing.</p>
<p>‘I can’t move,’ Henry says.</p>
<p>‘Poor thing.’</p>
<p>Mary lets her women undress her down to her shift and then dismisses them before she climbs onto the bed beside Henry, kissing him.</p>
<p>‘You could sound just a little sympathetic.’</p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Mary says, biting down a giggle as she cuddles up to Henry. ‘I thought you wanted Humphrey to like you?’</p>
<p>‘I do,’ Henry says. ‘But now I can’t go to sleep or – you know.’</p>
<p>Mary raises her eyebrows at him as he burns crimson.</p>
<p>‘Humphrey’s asleep,’ Mary says. ‘And he doesn’t know what those words mean.’</p>
<p>‘I know, but—’</p>
<p>He kisses her firmly – mainly, she thinks, to stop her from giggling. Then he sighs and looks down at Humphrey, running a finger over the dark thatch of hair.</p>
<p>‘Do you want to stop now?’ he says. ‘We’ve got four boys. That’s enough, surely. If you don’t want to—’</p>
<p>‘But I do. I like having you in bed with me,’ she says, blushing. ‘And – well, I’d like a daughter.’</p>
<p>Henry smiles at her, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’d like that too,’ he says. ‘A little girl would be perfect.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe two,’ Mary says, ‘so they’ll have each other.’</p>
<p>Henry laughs and kisses her cheek. ‘What if we get Humphrey’s nurse to take him away – what is that noise?’</p>
<p>Mary laughs, standing up and going to the door. Sure enough, she catches Thomas leading the charge, Harry, and John behind him. She turns back and grins at Henry, swooping down to swing John up into arms.</p>
<p>‘Our boys,’ she says. ‘Who else?’</p>
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